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THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS 
OF  THE  SIERRAS 


BY 

JOAQUIN   MILLER      \      *        -  \*1 

~  * 


AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BOSTON 
D,  LOTHROP  &   COMPANY 

FRANKLIN   AND    HAWLEY    STREETS 


Copyright,  1886, 

by 
D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY. 


Bancroft  Library 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

I.     THE    LITTLE    GOLD    MINERS    OF 

THE     SIERRAS.  .         .         .7 

Joaquin  Miller. 

II.    A  MODERN  HERO.  ...      23 

Marion  Harland. 

III.  BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  ...      44 

Mary  Catherine  Lee. 

IV.  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.        .        .      63 

Mary  Catherine  Lee. 

V.     How  Two  SCHOOLBOYS  KILLED  A 

BEAR. 86 

H.  F.  Marsh. 

VI.     PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.          .        .      94 
Kate  Gannett  Wells. 

VII.     AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.       .        .     1 19 
George  H.  Hebard. 

VIII.     THE  BUTTON  BOY.  .        .         .138 

A.  M.   Griffin. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK. 


IX.     DAN  HARDY'S  CRIPPY.         .        .        156 
James  Otis. 

X.     His  THREE  TRIALS.  .        .        185 

Kate  Gannett  Wells. 

XI.    IN  THE  SECOND  DORMITORY.       .        211 
John  Preston  True. 

XII.    THE  DOUGHNUT  BAIT.         .        .        232 
George  Varney. 

XIII.    A  REAL  HAPPENING.  .        .        239 

Mary  B.  Claflin. 


THE  LITTLE   GOLD  MINERS 
OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

/HpvHEIR  mother  had  died  crossing  the  plains,  and 
-*-  their  father  had  had  a  leg  broken  by  a  wagon 
wheel  passing  over  it  as  they  descended  the  Sierras, 
and  he  was  for  a  long  time  after  reaching  the  mines 
miserable,  lame  and  poor. 

The  eldest  boy,  Jim  Keene,  as  I  remember  him, 
was  a  bright  little  fellow,  but  wild  as  an  Indian  and 
full  of  mischief.  The  next  eldest  child,  Madge,  was  a 
girl  of  ten,  her  father's  favorite,  and  she  was  wild 
enough  too.  The  youngest  was  Stumps,  Poor,  timid, 
starved  Little  Stumps  !  I  never  knew  his  real  name. 
But  he  was  the  baby,  and  hardly  yet  out  of  petticoats. 
And  he  was  very  short  in  the  legs,  very  short  in  the  body, 
very  short  in  the  arms  and  neck  ;  and  so  he  was  called 
Stumps  because  he  looked  it.  In  fact  he  seemed  to 

7 


8  THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

have  stopped  growing  entirely.  Oh,  you  don't  know 
how  hard  the  old  Plains  were  on  everybody,  when  we 
crossed  them  in  ox-wagons,  and  it  took  more  than 
half  a  year  to  make  the  journey.  The  little  children, 
those  that  did  not  die,  turned  brown  like  the  Indians, 
in  that  long,  dreadful  journey  of  seven  months,  and 
stopped  growing  for  a  time. 

For  the  first  month  or  two  after  reaching  the 
Sierras,  old  Mr.  Keene  limped  about  among  the 
mines  trying  to  learn  the  mystery  of  finding  gold,  and 
the  art  of  digging.  But  at  last,  having  grown  strong 
enough,  he  went  to  work  for  wages,  to  get  bread  for 
his  half-wild  little  ones,  for  they  where  destitute  in- 
deed. 

Things  seemed  to  move  on  well,  then.  Madge  cooked 
the  simple  meals,  and  Little  Stumps  clung  to  her  dress 
with  his  little  pinched  brown  hand  wherever  she 
went,  while  Jim  whooped  it  over  the  hills  and  chased 
jack-rabbits  as  if  he  were  a  greyhound.  He  would 
climb  trees,  too,  like  a  squirrel.  And,  oh  !  —  it  was  de- 
plorable —  but  how  he  could  swear ! 

At  length  some  of  the  miners,  seeing  the  boy  must 
come  to  some  bad  end  if  not  taken  care  of,  put 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.  9 

their  heads  and  their  pockets  together  and  sent  the 
children  to  school.  This  school  was  a  mile  away 
over  the  beautiful  brown  hills,  a  long,  pleasant  walk 
under  the  green  California  oaks. 

Well,  Jim  would  take  the  little  tin  dinner  bucket, 
and  his  slate,  and  all  their  books  under  his  arm  and 
go  booming  ahead  about  half  a  mile  in  advance,  while 
Madge  with  brown  Little  Stumps  clinging  to  her  side 
like  a  burr,  would  come  stepping  along  the  trail  under 
the  oak-trees  as  fast  as  she  could  after  him. 

But  if  a  jack-rabbit,  or  a  deer,  or  a  fox  crossed 
Jim's  path,  no  matter  how  late  it  was,  or  how  the 
teacher  had  threatened  him.  he  would  drop  books, 
lunch,  slate  and  all,  and  spitting  on  his  hands  and 
rolling  up  his  sleeves,  would  bound  away  after  it, 
yelling  like  a  wild  Indian.  And  some  days,  so  fasci- 
nating was  the  chase,  Jim  did  not  appear  at  the 
schoolhouse  at  all ;  and  of  course  Madge  and  Stumps 
played  truant  too.  Sometimes  a  week  together  would 
pass  and  the  Keene  children  would  not  be  seen  at 
the  schoolhouse.  Visits  from  the  schoolmaster  pro- 
duced no  lasting  effect.  The  children  would  come 
for  a  day  or  two,  then  be  seen  no  more.  The  school- 


10        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

master  and  their  father  at  last  had  a  serious  talk 
about  the  matter. 

"  What  can  I  do  with  him  ?  "  said  Mr.  Keene. 

"You'll  have  to  put  him  to  work,"  said  the  school- 
master. "  Set  him  to  hunting  nuggets  instead  of 
bird's-nests.  I  guess  what  the  boy  wants  is  some 
honest  means  of  using  his  strength.  He's  a  good 
boy,  Mr.  Keene;  don't  despair  of  him.  Jim  would  be 
proud  to  be  an  '  honest  miner.'  Jim's  a  good  boy, 
Mr.  Keene." 

"  Well,  then,  thank  you,  Schoolmaster,"  said  Mr. 
Keene.  "  Jim's  a  good  boy  ;  and  Madge  is  good,  Mr. 
Schoolmaster;  and  poor  starved  ard  stunted  mother- 
less Little  Stumps,  he  is  good  as  gold,  Mr.  School- 
master. And  I  want  to  be  a  mother  to  ''em  —  I  want 
to  be  father  and  mother  to  'em  all,  Mr.  Schoolmaster. 
And  I'll  follow  your  advice.  I'll  put  'em  all  to  work 
a-huntin'  for  gold." 

The  next  day  away  up  on  the  hillside  under  a 
pleasant  oak,  where  the  air  was  sweet  and  cool,  and 
the  ground  soft  and  dotted  over  with  flowers,  the 
tender-hearted  old  man  that  wanted  to  be  "father 
and  mother  both,"  "  located  "  a  claim.  The  flowers 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.         II 

were  kept  fresh  by  a  little  stream  of  waste  water  from 
the  ditch  that  girded  the  brow  of  the  hill  above. 
Here  he  set  a  sluice-box  and  put  his  three  little  min- 
ers at  work  with  pick,  pan  and  shovel.  There  he 
left  them  and  limped  back  to  his  own  place  in  the 
mine  below. 

And  how  they  did  work  !  And  how  pleasant  it 
was  here  under  the  broad  boughs  of  the  oak,  with  the 
water  rippling  through  the  sluice  on  the  soft,  loose 
soil  which  they  shoveled  into  the  long  sluice-box. 
They  could  see  the  mule-trains  going  and  coming, 
and  the  clouds  of  dust  far  below  which  told  them 
the  stage  was  whirling  up  the  valley.  But  Jim  kept 
steadily  on  at  his  work  day  after  day.  Even  though 
jack-rabbits  and  squirrels  appeared  on  the  very  scene, 
he  would  not  leave  till,  like  the  rest  of  the  honest 
miners,  he  could  shoulder  his  pick  and  pan  and  go 
down  home  with  the  setting  sun. 

Sometimes  the  men  who  had  tried  to  keep  the 
children  at  school,  would  come  that  way,  and  with 
a  shy  smile,  talk  very  wisely  about  whether  or  not 
the  new  miners  would  "  strike  it "  under  the  cool 
oak  among  the  flowers  on  the  hill.  But  Jim  never 


12        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

stopped  to  talk  much.     He  dug  and  wrestled  away, 
day   after    day,    now    up    to    his   waist   in    the    pit. 

One  Saturday  evening  the  old  man  limped  up  the 
hillside  to  help  the  young  miners  "  clean  up." 

He  sat  down  at  the  head  of  the  sluice-box  and 
gave  directions  how  they  should  turn  off  the  most  of 
the  water,  wash  down  the  "  toilings  "  very  low,  lift  up 
the  "  riffle,"  brush  down  the  "  apron,"  and  finally  set 
the  pan  in  the  lower  end  of  the  "  sluice-toil  "  and  pour 
in  the  quicksilver  to  gather  up  and  hold  the  gold. 

"  What  for  you  put  your  hand  in  de  water  for, 
papa  ?  "  queried  Little  Stumps,  who  had  left  off  his 
work,  which  consisted  mainly  of  pulling  flowers  and 
putting  them  in  the  sluice-box  to  see  them  float  away. 
He  was  sitting  by  his  father's'  side,  and  he  looked  up 
in  his  face  as  he  spoke. 

"  Hush,  child, "said  the  old  man  softly,  as  he  again 
dipped  his  thumb  and  finger  in  his  vest  pocket  as 
if  about  to  take  snuff.  But  he  did  not  take  snuff. 
Again  his  hand  was  reached  down  to  the  rippling 
water  at  the  head  of  the  sluice-box.  And  this  time 
curious  but  obedient  Little  Stumps  was  silent. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout,  such  a  shout  from  Jim 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.         13 

as  the  hills  had  not  heard  since  he  was  a  schoolboy. 

He  had  found  the  "  color."  "  Two  colors  !  three, 
four,  five  —  a  dozen !  "  The  boy  shouted  like  a 
Modoc,  threw  down  the  brush  and  scraper,  and  kissed 
his  little  sister  over  and  over,  and  cried  as  he  did  so  ; 
then  he  whispered  softly  to  her  as  he  again  took  up 
his  brush  and  scraper,  that  it  was  "  for  papa  ;  all  for 
poor  papa ;  that  he  did  not  care  for  himself,  but  he 
did  want  to  help  poor,  tired,  and  crippled  papa." 
But  papa  did  not  seem  to  be  excited  so  very  much. 

The  little  miners  were  now  continually  wild  with 
excitement.  They  were  up  and  at  work  Monday 
morning  at  dawn.  The  men  who  were  in  the  father's 
tender  secret,  congratulated  the  children  heartily  and 
made  them  presents  of  several  small  nuggets  to  add 
to  their  little  horde. 

In  this  way  they  kept  steadily  at  work  for  half  the 
summer.  All  the  gold  was  given  to  papa  to  keep. 
Papa  weighed  it  each  week,  and  I  suppose  secretly 
congratulated  himself  that  he  was  getting  back  about 
as  much  as  he  put  in. 

Before  quite  the  end  of  the  third  month,  Jim 
struck  a  thin  bed  of  blue  gravel.  The  miners  who 


14        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

had  been  happily  chuckling  and  laughing  among 
themselves  to  think  how  they  had  managed  to  keep 
Jim  out  of  mischief,  began  to  look  at  each  other  and 
wonder  how  in  the  world  blue  gravel  ever  got  up  there 
on  the  hill.  And  in  a  few  days  more  there  was  a  well- 
defined  bed  of  blue  gravel,  too  ;  and  not  one  of  the 
miners  could  make  it  out. 

One  Saturday  evening  shortly  after,  as  the  old  man 
weighed  their  gold  he  caught  his  breath,  started,  and 
stood  up  straight ;  straighter  than  he  had  stood 
since  he  crossed  the  Plains.  Then  he  hastily  left  the 
cabin.  He  went  up  the  hill  to  the  children's  claim 
almost  without  limping.  Then  he  took  a  pencil  and 
an  old  piece  of  a  letter,  and  wrote  out  a  notice  and 
tacked  it  up  on  the  big  oak-tree,  claiming  those 
mining  claims  according  to  miners'  law,  for  the  three 
children.  A  couple  of  miners  laughed  as  they  went 
by  in  the  twilight,  to  see  what  he  was  doing ;  and  he 
laughed  with  them.  But  as  he  limped  on  down  the 
hill  he  smiled. 

That  night  as  they  sat  at  supper,  he  told  the  chil- 
dren that  as  they  had  been  such  faithful  and  indus- 
trious miners,  he  was  going  to  give  them  each  a 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.         15 

present,  besides  a  little  gold  to  spend  as  they  pleased. 

So  he  went  up  to  the  store  and  bought  Jim  a  red 
shirt,  long  black  and  bright  gum  boots,  a  broad-brim- 
med hat,  and  a  belt.  He  also  bought  each  of  the 
other  children  some  pretty  trappings,  and  gave  each 
a  dollar's  worth  of  gold  dust.  Madge  and  Stumps 
handed  their  gold  back  to  "  poor  papa."  But  Jim  was 
crazy  with  excitement.  He  put  on  his  new  clothes 
and  went  forth  to  spend  his  dollar.  And  what  do 
you  suppose  he  bought  ?  I  hesitate  to  tell  you.  But 
what  he  bought  was  a  pipe  and  a  paper  of  tobacco  ! 

That  red  shirt,  that  belt  and  broad-brimmed  hat, 
together  with  the  shiny  top  boots,  had  been  too  much 
for  Jim's  balance.  How  could  a  man  —  he  spoke  of 
himself  as  a  man  now  —  how  could  a  man  be  an 
"  honest  miner  "  and  not  smoke  a  pipe  ? 

And  now  with  his  manly  clothes  and  his  manly 
pipe  he  was  to  be  so  happy  !  He  had  all  that  went 
to  make  up  "  the  honest  miner."  True,  he  did  not 
let  his  father  know  about  the  pipe.  He  hid  it  under 
his  pillow  at  night.  He  meant  to  have  his  first  smoke 
at  the  sluice-box,  as  a  miner  should. 

Monday  morning  he  was  up  with   the   sun   and 


1 6        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

ready  for  his  work.  His  father,  who  worked  down  the 
Gulch,  had  already  gone  before  the  children  had 
finished  their  breakfast.  So  now  Jim  filled  his  bran- 
new  pipe  very  leisurely ;  and  with  as  much  calm 
unconcern  as  if  he  had  been  smoking  for  forty  years, 
he  stopped  to  scratch  a  match  on  the  door  as  he  went 
out. 

From  under  his  broad  hat  he  saw  his  little  sister 
watching  him,  and  he  fairly  swelled  with  importance 
as  Stumps  looked  up  at  him  with  childish  wonder. 
Leaving  Madge  to  wash  the  few  tin  dishes  and  fol- 
low as  she  could  with  Little  Stumps,  he  started  on  up 
the  hill,  pipe  in  mouth. 

He  met  several  miners,  but  he  puffed  away  like  a 
tug-boat  against  the  tide,  and  went  on.  His  bright 
new  boots  whetted  and  creaked  together,  the  warm 
wind  lifted  the  broad  brim  of  his  sombrero,  and  his 
bright  new  red  shirt  was  really  beautiful,  with  the 
green  grass  and  oaks  for  a  background  —  and  so  this 
brave  young  man  climbed  the  hill  to  his  mine.  Ah, 
he  was  so  happy  ! 

Suddenly,  as  he  approached  the  claim,  his  knees 
began  to  smite  together,  and  he  felt  so  weak  he  could 


HE    TOOK    THE    LIMP    YOUNG    MINER    IN    HIS    ARMS. 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.          19 

hardly  drag  one  foot  after  the  other.  He  threw  down 
his  pick  ;  he  began  to  tremble  and  spin  around.  The 
world  seemed  to  be  turning  over  and  over,  and  he 
trying  in  vain  to  hold  on  to  it.  He  jerked  the  pipe 
from  his  teeth,  and  throwing  it  down  on  the  bank,  he 
tumbled  down  too,  and  clutching  at  the  grass  with 
both  hands  tried  hard,  oh  !  so  hard,  to  hold  the  world 
from  slipping  from  under  him. 

"  O,  Jim,  you  are  white  as  snow,"  cried  Madge  as 
she  came  up. 

"  White  as  'er  sunshine,  an'  blue,  an'  green  too, 
sisser.  Look  at  brurrer  '  all  colors,'  "  piped  Little 
Stumps  pitifully. 

"  O,  Jim,  Jim  —  brother  Jim,  what  is  the  matter  ? " 
sobbed  Madge. 

"  Sunstroke,"  murmured  the  young  man,  smilling 
grimly,  like  a  true  Californian.  "  No  ;  it  is  not  sun- 
stroke, it's  —  it's  cholera,"  he  added  in  dismay  over 
his  falsehood. 

Poor  boy  !  he  was  sorry  for  this  second  lie  too. 
He  fairly  groaned  in  agony  of  body  and  soul. 

Oh,  how  he  did  hate  that  pipe  !  How  he  did  want 
to  get  up  and  jump  on  it  and  smash  it  into  a  thousand 


20        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

pieces !  But  he  could  not  get  up  or  turn  around  or 
move  at  all  without  betraying  his  unmanly  secret. 

A  couple  of  miners  came  up,  but  Jim  feebly  begged 
them  to  go. 

"  Sunstroke,"  whispered  the  sister. 

"  No  ;  tolera,"  piped  poor  Little  Stumps. 

"  Get  out !  Leave  me  ! "  groaned  the  young  red- 
shirted  miner  of  the  Sierras. 

The  biggest  of  the  two  miners  bent  over  him  a 
moment. 

"  Yas  ;  it's  both,"  he  muttered.  "  Cholera-nicotine- 
fantum ! "  Then  he  locked  at  his  partner  and 
winked  wickedly.  Without  a  word,  he  took  the  limp 
young  miner  up  in  his  arms  and  bore  him  down  the 
hill  to  his  father's  cabin,  while  Stumps  and  Madge 
ran  along  at  either  side,  and  tenderly  and  all  the 
time  kept  asking  what  was  good  for  "  cholera." 

The  other  old  "  honest  miner  "  lingered  behind  to 
pick  up  the  baleful  pipe  which  he  knew  was  some- 
where there ;  and  when  the  little  party  was  far 
enough  down  the  hill,  he  took  it  up  and  buried  it  in 
his  own  capacious  pocket  with  a  half-sorrowful  laugh. 
"  Poor  little  miner,"  he  sighed. 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS.         21 

"  Don't  ever  swear  any  more,  Windy,"  pleaded  the 
boy  to  the  miner  who  had  carried  him  down  the  hill, 
as  he  leaned  over  him,  "  and  don't  never  lie,  I  am 
going  to  die,  Windy,  and  I  should  like  to  be  good. 
Windy,  it  ain't  sunstroke,  it's  "  — 

"  Hush  yer  mouth,"  growled  Windy.  "  I  know 
what  'tis  !  We've  left  it  on  the  hill." 

The  boy  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  The  convic- 
tion was  strong  upon  him  that  he  was  going  to  die. 
The  world  spun  round  now  very,  very  fast  indeed. 
Finally,  half-rising  in  bed,  he  called  Little  Stumps  to 
his  side  : 

"  Stumps,  dear,  good  Little  Stumps,  if  I  die  don't 
you  never,  never  try  for  to  smoke ;  for  that's  what's 
the  matter  with  me.  No,  Stumps  —  dear  little  brother 
Stumps  —  don't  you  never  try  for  to  go  the  whole  of 
the  'honest  miner,'  for  it  can't  be  did  by  a  boy! 
We're  nothing  but  boys,  you  and  I,  Stumps  —  Little 
Stumps." 

He  sank  back  in  bed  and  Little  Stumps  and  his 
sister  cried  and  cried,  and  kissed  him  and  kissed 
him. 

The  miners  who  had  gathered  around  loved  him 


22        THE  LITTLE  GOLD  MINERS  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

now,  every  one,  for  daring  to  tell  the  truth  and  take 
the  shame  of  his  folly  so  bravely. 

"  I'm  going  to  die,  Windy,"  groaned  the  boy. 

Windy  could  stand  no  more  of  it.  He  took  Jim's 
hand  with  a  cheery  laugh.  "  Git  well  in  half  an  hour," 
said  he,  "  now  that  you've  out  with  the  truth." 

And  so  he  did.  By  the  time  his  father  came  home 
he  was  sitting  up  ;  and  he  ate  breakfast  the  next 
morning  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  But  he  never 
tried  to  smoke  any  more  as  long  as  he  lived.  And  he 
never  lied,  and  he  never  swore  any  more. 

Oh,  no !  this  Jim  that  I  have  been  telling  you  of  is 
"  Moral  Jim,"  of  the  Sierras.  The  mine  ?  Oh  !  I 
almost  forgot.  Well,  that  blue  dirt  was  the  old  bed  of 
the  stream,  and  it  was  ten  times  richer  than  where  the 
miners  were  all  at  work  below.  Struck  it !  I  should 
say  so !  Ask  any  of  the  old  Sierras  miners  about 
"  The  Children's  Claim,"  if  you  want  to  hear  just  how 
rich  they  struck  it. 


A    MODERN    HERO. 

IT  was  a  very  humble  house.  Only  a  flat  of 
three  rooms  on  the  third  floor  of  a  tall  tene- 
ment-house in  a  back  street  near  the  river.  A 
bedroom,  a  tiny  parlor  and  a  kitchen,  which  was 
also  an  eating-room,  made  up  the  suite.  The 
Briggses  did  all  their  daylight  living  in  the  last- 
named  apartment.  The  floor  was  painted  yellow; 
the  walls  were  whitewashed;  the  furniture  was 
homely,  substantial  and  well-kept. 

Everything  was  shining  clean,  and  both  win- 
dows were  full  of  plants,  many  of  them  in  flower. 
Mrs.  Briggs  was  fully  persuaded  in  her  own  mind 
that  no  other  woman  in  the  city  had  such  a  tale  of 
daily  mercies  as  herself.  Among  them  were  the 
southern  exposure  of  those  windows  and  the  circum- 
stance that  a  gap  in  the  buildings  back  of  them  let 
in  the  sunshine  freely.  Her  nasturtiums  blossomed 
23 


24  A    MODERN    HERO. 

there  all  winter ;  from  a  pot  she  had  suspended  by 
strings  from  the  top  of  the  casing,  sweet  alysseum 
flowed  downward  like  a  fountain  of  soft  green 
waters  tipped  with  white  ;  scarlet  geraniums  shot 
up  rank  shoots  that  had  to  be  pruned  into  rea- 
sonableness, and  as  to  Christmas  roses — "But 
there ! "  the  worthy  soul  would  assure  her  ac- 
quaintances, "  they  do  beat  everything !  " 

This  winter  the  calla  was  about  to  bloom.  A 
kind  lady  had  given  the  bulb  to  Mrs.  Briggs's  son, 
and  there  was  no  telling  the  store  he  set  by  it. 

Topliffe  Briggs  —  alias,  Top,  Senior — was  an 
engineer  on  the  great  North,  East,  West  and  South 
Railway.  He  sat  at  the  tea-table  with  his  wife 
and  son  at  five-thirty  one  cloudy  February  after- 
noon. His  next  train  went  out  at  six-forty-five. 
He  had  run  "Her"  into  the  station  at  four,  and 
his  house  was  but  two  blocks  away.  Mrs.  Briggs 
could  see  from  those  unparalleled  kitchen-windows 
the  bridge  by  which  the  track  crossed  the  river 
separating  the  town  from  the  marshes,  and  could 
calculate  to  a  minute  when  the  familiar  step  would 
be  heard  on  the  stairs. 


A   MODERN    HERO.  25 

"You  see  we  live  by  railroad  time,"  was  her 
modest  boast.  "  And  my  husband  always  comes 
straight  home."  She  did  not  emphasize  the  "  my," 
knowing  in  her  compassionate  heart  what  other 
husbands  were  prone  to  lag  by  the  way  until  they 
came  home  late  and  crookedly. 

Top,  Senior,  was  on  time  to-day.  "  I  ken  trust 
Her  with  Bartlett,  you  see,"  he  remarked  to  his 
wife.  "  He  won't  leave  tel  she's  all  trig  an'  tidy 
for  the  next  trip.  I  wisht  I  could  be  as  sure  o' 
Stokes!" 

Mrs.  Briggs  looked  up  inquiringly. 

11  Stokes  is  a  clever  fellow,"  pursued  Top  Senior 
regretfully,  slicing  vigorously  into  the  cold  corned 
beef,  for  he  was  hungry.  "Smart  as  a  steel  trap, 
and  onderstan's  his  business.  I  never  see  a  fire- 
man what  hed  a  better  chance  o'  risin'  to  an  in- 
gineer.  He  knows  Her  pretty  nigh's  well  ez  I  do. 
I've  took  real  comfort  in  learning  him  all  I  could. 
But  I'm  afeerd,  sometimes,  he's  on  a  down-grade 
and  the  brakes  don't  work." 

"  You  mean  that  he  drinks,  don't  you,  father?" 
asked  the  sharp-eyed  boy  at  his  elbow. 


26  A   MODERN    HERO. 

"  There-,  father  ! "  interjected  the  mother.  "  You 
might  'a'  known  he'd  onderstan',  no  matter  how 
you  put  it ! " 

"I  ain't  afeered  o'  my  boy  blabbin'!"  The 
brawny  hand  stroked  the  thin  light  hair  of  his  only 
child.  "  An'  I  want  he  should  learn  to  hate  the 
stuff.  It's  the  devil's  best  drivin'  wheel  —  liquor  is. 
I'd  ruther  lay  you  with  my  own  han's  'cross  the 
rails  this  very  night,  an'  drive  Her  right  over  you, 
than  to  know  that  you'd  grow  up  a  drunkard. 
Never  do  you  forget  them  words,  Junior !  I  mean 
every  one  o'  them  !  " 

The  boy  started  at  the  earnestness  of  the  ex- 
hortation, winked  hard  to  keep  his  eyes  dry,  and 
changed  the  subject.  "  Hev  you  noticed  my  lily 
to-day,  mother  ?  I  guess  it'll  be  wide  open  by  the 
time  you  get  in  to-night,  father." 

They  all  turned  to  look  at  the  tall  stem,  crowned 
by  the  unfolding  calyx.  "  Junior's  goin'  to  be  a 
master-hand  with  flowers,"  observed  the  mother. 
"  He  saves  me  pretty  nigh  all  the  trouble  o'  takin' 
keer  of  'em.  I've  been  thinkin'  that  might  be  a 
good  business  for  him  when  he  grows  up." 


A    MODERN    HERO.  27 

She  was  always  forecasting  his  future  with  more 
anxiety  than  generally  enters  into  maternal  hopes 
and  fears.  When  but  a  year  old,  he  had  fallen  from 
the  arms  of  a  neighbor  who  had  caught  him  up  from 
the  floor  in  a  fit  of  tipsy  fondness.  The  child's 
back  and  hip  were  severely  injured.  He  had  not 
walked  a  step  until  he  was  five  years  of  age,  and 
would  be  lame  always.  He  was  now  twelve  —  a 
dwarf  in  statue,  hump-backed,  weazen-faced  and 
shrill-voiced,  unsightly  in  all  eyes  but  those  of  his 
parents.  To  them  he  was  a  miracle  of  precocity 
and  beauty.  His  mother  took  in  fine  ironing  to 
pay  for  his  private  tuition  from  a  public  school- 
teacher who  lived  in  the  neighborhood.  He  learned 
fast  and  eagerly.  His  father,  at  the  teacher's  sug- 
gestion, subscribed  to  a  circulating  library  and  the 
same  kind  friend  selected  books  for  the  cripple's 
reading.  There  was  a  hundred  dollars  in  the  sav- 
ings bank,  against  the  name  of  "  Topliffe  Briggs, 
Junior,"  deposited,  dollar  by  dollar,  and  represent- 
ing countless  acts  of  self-denial  on  the  part  of  the 
industrious  couple,  and  his  possible  profession  was 
a  favorite  theme  of  family  converse. 


28  A   MODERN    HERO. 

"  For  that  matter,  there's  lot  o'  things  a  scholard 
like  him  ken  do,"  rejoined  Top,  Senior,  with  affec- 
tionate confidence  in  his  heir's  talents  and  acquire- 
ments. "  'Tain't  like  'twould  be  with  a  feller  like 
me  whose  arms  an'  legs  is  his  hull  stock  in  trade. 
Why,  I  min'  seein'  a  leetle  rat  of  a  man  come  on 
board  one  time  'scorted  by  a  dozen  'o  the  biggest 
bugs  in  the  city,  an'  people  a-stretchin'  their  necks 
out  o'  j'int  to  ketch  a  look  of  him.  Sech  a  mealyr 
faced,  weakMookin'  atomy  he  was  !  But  millions  o' 
people  was  a-readin'  that  very  day  a  big  speech 
he'd  made  in  Washin'ton,  an'  he'd  saved  the  coun- 
try from  trouble  more  'n  oncet.  He  mought  'a' 
been  President  ef  he  had  chose  to  run.  That's  the 
good  o'  hevin'  a  tiptop  head-piece." 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind ! "  said  Top,  Junior, 
with  an  air.  "  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  Hero !  Like  Julius 
Caesar  an'  Alexander  an'  William  Tell  an'  Captain 
John  Smith,  an'  other  men  I've  read  about.  I  wish 
you  would  be  a  Hero,  father !  It's  ever  so  much 
nicer  than  runnin'  an  engine.  Won't  you  —  please  ! 
You  are  strong  enough  and  good  enough  for  any- 
thing, an'  you  know  a  great  deal  about  things ! " 


A    MODERN    HERO.  29 

The  blue  eyes  were  bright  and  wistful,  his  hand 
stole  up  to  the  bushy  whiskers,  ginger-colored  from 
exposure  to  the  air  and  boiler-heat. 

"  Me,  a  hero  !  Haw  !  haw !  "  roared  the  engineer, 
letting  fall  his  knife  and  fork  in  his  merriment. 
"  rd cut  a  rigger  at  the  head  of  an  army,  or  speakin' 
in  Congress,  or  a-setten'  on  a  gold  throne,  wouldn't 
I  ?  No  !  no  !  my  man  !  "  sobering  down  suddenly, 
into  a  sort  of  sad  dignity.  "  Yer  father  ain't  got 
the  brains  nor  the  eddication  for  nothin'  of  that 
kind  !  All  he  ken  do  is  to  live  clean  an'  honest 
in  the  sight  o'  the  Lord,  an'  to  run  his  ingine  'cor- 
din'  to  the  best  o'  his  lights." 

"  The  Lord's  too  reasonable  to  expect  more  of 
you  'n  to  do  your  duty  in  the  place  where's  He's  put 
you,"  said  the  wife  gently. 

"  I  hope  he  is,  Mother !  Ef  he  looked  for  more  — 
or  for  any  big  thing  's  fur  as  that  goes,  the  chances 
are  He'd  be  disapp'inted.  I  hev  plenty  o'  time  fur 
thinkin'  while  we're  scootin'  'cross  the  level  coun- 
try an'  creepin'  up  steep  grades,  an'  I've  worked  it 
out  to  my  own  satisfaction  that  somethin'  else  I've 
got  to  be  thankful  fur,  is  that  my  way  in  life's  been 


3°  A   MODERN    HERO. 

marked  down  so  plain.  'Seems  if  I  he'd  been  sot 
onto  rails  pretty  much's  She  is,  an'  's  long  ez  I  do 
my  level  best  on  that  'ar  line,  why,  it's  all  I  ken  do. 
That's  the  hull  of  it !  I  ain't  no  speechifier,  you 
see,  Junior  "  —  with  an  embarrassed  laugh  at  the 
boy's  evident  discontent  —  "I'll  hev  to  depen'  on 
you  fur  to  say  it  —  or  maybe,  write  done  ship-shape, 
some  o'  these  notions  o'  mine,  some  day.  I'd  git 
better  holt  o'  them  myself  ef  I  was  to  hear  some- 
body what  knowed  how  to  put  things  go  over  'em. 
Mother !  edclication  wouldn't  learn  no  woman  how 
to  make  better  bread'n  yourn.  Fact  is,  there's 
nothin'  ekal  to  home,  an  home-vittles  an'  home- 
folks  !  With  such  a  livin'  ez  I've  took  in,  I  sha'n't 
need  a  bite  at  the  Agapolis  deepo.  We're  half  an 
hour  there,  but  I  hate  the  very  smell  o'  them  eatin' 
houses  1  An'  please  GOD  !  I'll  bring  Her  in  at 
twelve  —  sharp  !" 

He  pulled  on  his  overcoat  and  felt  in  the  pocket 
for  his  gloves.  "  I'm  main  proud  o'  them  fellers  !  " 
he  said,  fitting  one  to  a  hand  half  the  size  of  a  leg 
of-mutton  and  not  unlike  it  in  shape. 

He  had  said  the  same  thing  every  time  he  put  them 


A   MODERN    HERO.  31 

on  since  Christmas.  They  were  a  holiday  gift  from 
the  conductors  on  the  line  between  the  two  cities 
which  was  his  semi-daily  beat. 

"  I  take  a  world  o'  comfort  in  them,  this  freezin' 
weather.  Fact  is,  Mother,  this  world's  been  pretty 
full  o'  comfort,  all  the  way  through,  for  us  —  a  nice 
easy  grade  —  ef  yer  father  ain't  a  Hero,  Junior ! 
Six-twenty  !  I  mus'  be  off  !  I  like  to  be  there  in 
time  to  see  thet  Stokes  is  on  han'  an'  all  right.  Ef 
you  don't  min',  Mother,  we'll  hev  him  to  dinner  nex' 
Sunday.  I  want  to  do  somethin'  t'wards  savin' 
Stokes.  'Specially  ez  he's  on  my  line  ! " 

At  six-fifty,  Top,  Junior,  from  his  post  at  the 
calla-window,  saw  the  long  line  of  cars,  spaced  by 
dots  of  murkey  red,  the  luminous  plume  of  smoke 
trailing,  comet-wise,  above  them,  slowly  pass  over 
the  bridge.  It  was  a  cloudy  evening  and  the 
marsh-mists  swallowed  up  the  blinking  windows  as 
soon  as  the  train  gained  the  other  shore.  Junior 
loved  his  mother,  but  his  father  seemed  to  take 
most  of  the  life  and  cheer  out  of  the  room  when  he 
went.  Existence  stagnated  for  the  boy  who  had 
no  mates  of  his  own  age. 


32  A    MODERN    HERO. 

"  I  wish  he  didn't  hev  to  run  in  bad  weather  and 
nights  !  "  he  said,  fretfully. 

"It's  his  business,  child,  an'  your  father  ain't 
one  to  dodge  his  duty." 

"  I  hate  the  word  !  "  retorted  the  petted  cripple. 
"When  I'm  a  man  I'll  be  my  own  master,  and 
switch  Duty  off  the  track." 

The  obnoxious  word  came  up  again  in  the  course 
of  the  evening.  In  reading  aloud  to  his  teacher 
they  happened  upon  this  definition  of  "  a  hero," 
given  by  one  of  the  characters  in  the  story  under 
his  eyes  :  "  One  who,  in  a  noble  work  or  enterprise, 
does  more  than  his  duty." 

Junior  looked  up  disappointed.  "Is  that  the 
meaning  of  hero  ? "  he  said,  intensely  chagrined. 

"  That  is  one  way  of  stating  it.  I  doubt,  myself, 
if  we  can  do  more  than  our  duty.  What  do  you 
think,  Mrs.  Briggs  ? "  asked  the  young  woman. 
She  esteemed  the  honest  couple  for  their  sterling 
worth  and  sense,  and  liked  to  draw  them  out. 

"A  person  ken  ondertake  more,  I  'spose.  Ef 
they  don't  carry  it  through,  it's  a  sign  'twas  meant 
fur  them  to  go  jest  that  fur,  an'  no  further.  'Txvon't 


A    MODERN    HERO. 


33 


do  fur  us  to  be  skeery  'bout  layin'  holt  of  the 
handle  the  Good  Lord  puts  nighest  to  us,  fur  fear 
it's  too  big  a  thing  fur  us  to  manage.  That's  what 
my  husband  says.  An'  if  ever  a  man  lived  up  to 
it,  he  does." 

Top,  Junior,  looked  sober  and  mortified.  The 
heroism  of  common  life  does  not  commend  itself 
to  the  youthful  imagination.  When  his  lesson  was 
finished  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed.  "  Wake 
me  when  father  comes  in  !  "  was  the  formula  with- 
out which  he  never  closed  his  eyes. 

His  mother  never  failed  to  do  it,  but  he  wanted 
to  make  sure  of  it.  She  put  on  a  lump  of  coal, 
just  enough  to  keep  the  fire  "in,"  and  sat  down  to 
the  weekly  mending.  At  eleven-forty,  she  would 
open  the  draughts  and  cook  the  sausages  ready- 
laid  in  the  pan  on  the  table.  Top,  Senior,  liked 
"  something  hot  and  hearty,"  after  his  midnight 
run,  and  this  dispatched,  smoked  the  nightcap  pipe 
of  peace,  Junior,  rolled  in  a  shawl,  on  his  knee. 
The  wife's  face  and  heart  were  calm  with  thankful 
content  as  the  hours  moved  on.  She  was  rosy  and 
plump,  with  pleasant  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair,  a 


34  A   MODERN    HERO. 

wholesome  presence  at  the  hearthstone,  in  her 
gown  of  clean  chocolate  calico  with  her  linen  collar 
and  scarlet  cravat.  Top,  Senior,  had  noticed  and 
praised  the  new  red  ribbon.  He  comprehended 
that  it  was  put  on  to  please  him  and  Junior,  both 
of  whom  liked  to  see  "Mother  fixed  up."  In  this 
life,  they  were  her  all,  and  she  accounted  that  life 
full  and  rich. 

As  she  served,  she  heard  the  slow  patter  of  Feb- 
ruary rain  on  the  shelf  outside  of  the  window,  where 
her  flowers  stood  in  summer.  The  great  city  was 
sinking  into  such  half-sleep  as  it  took  between 
midnight  and  dawn  ;  the  shriek  and  rush  of  incom- 
ing and  outgoing  trains  grew  less  frequent.  She 
did  not  fret  over  the  disagreeable  weather.  Top, 
Senior,  had  often  said  that  such  made  home  and 
fire  and  supper  more  welcome. 

At  Junior's  bed-time,  he  was  eighty  miles  away, 
walking  up  and  down  the  muddy  platform  of  the 
principal  station  of  Agapolis,  stamping  his  feet  at 
each  turn  in  his  promenade  to  restore  the  circula- 
tion. His  was  a  fast  Express  train,  and  he  stood 
durin^  most  of  the  run,  on  the  alert  to  guard  against 


A    MODERN    HERO.  35 

accident.  There  was  no  more  careful  engineer  on 
the  road.  Fireman  and  brakeman  were  off  for 
supper  in  or  near  the  station.  He  slouched  as  he 
walked,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  pockets  ;  his 
overcoat  was  heavy  and  too  loose  even  for  his  bulky 
figure.  He  had  "taken  it  off  the  hands"  of  an 
engineer's  widow  whose  husband  was  dragged  from 
under  a  wrecked  train  one  night  last  summer. 
"Mother"  used  to  look  grave  when  Top,  Senior, 
began  to  wear  it,  but  she  was  not  a  mite  notional 
—  Mother  wasn't,  and  she  was  glad  now  that  poor 
Mrs.  Wilson  had  the  money  and  he  had  the  beaver- 
cloth  coat.  His  face  was  begrimed  with  smoke, 
his  beard  clogged  with  cinders  and  vapor.  A  lady, 
travelling  alone,  hesitated  visibly  before  she  asked 
a  question,  looked  surprised  when  he  touched  his 
hat  and  turned  to  go  half  the  length  of  the  platform 
that  he  might  point  out  the  parlor-car.  He  observed 
and  interpreted  hesitation  and  surprise,  and  was 
good-humoredly  amused. 

"I  s'pose  I  don't  look  much  like  what  Junior 
calls  *  a  hero,'  "  he  meditated  with  a  broader  gleam. 
"What  a  cute  young  one  he  is  !  Please  GOD  !  he'll 


36  A    MODERN    HERO. 

make  a  better  figure  in  the  world  'n  his  father  hes 
done.  I  hope  that  lily-flower  o'  hisn  will  be  open  in 
the  mornin'.  'Seems  if  I  got  softer-hearted  'bout 
hevin  thetboy  disapp'inted  every  day  I  live.  Come 
summer,  he  shell  hev  a  run  or  two  on  Her  every 
week.  Mother  'n  me  hes  got  to  make  up  to  him 
for  what  he  loses  in  not  bein'  strong  an'  like  other 
chillren.  Mother — she's  disposed  to  spile  him 
jest  a  leetle.  But  dear  me !  what  a  fustrate  fault 
that  is  in  a  woman  !  She  did  look  good  in  that  ere 
red  neck-tie,  to-night,  an'  she  was  always  pretty." 
The  rain  was  fine  and  close,  like  a  slanting  mist 
that  pierced  the  pores,  when  the  Express  drew  out 
of  the  station,  and  as  it  fell,  it  froze.  Stokes 
growled  that  "  the  track  would  be  one  glare  of  ice 
before  they  got  Her  in."  He  was  inclined  to  be 
surly  to-night,  an  uncommon  circumstance  with  the 
young  fellow,  and  after  several  attempts  to  enliven 
him,  Top,  Senior,  let  him  alone.  He  was  not  in  a 
talkative  mood  himself.  The  tea-table  chat  ran  in 
his  head  and  set  him  to  dreaming  and  calculating. 
In  five  years  Junior  would  be  seventeen — old 
enough,  even  for  a  lad  who  was  "  not  strong,"  to 


A    MODERN    HERO.  3^ 

earn  his  living.  If  all  went  well,  there  ought  to  be 
a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  the  bank  by  then. 
There  might  be  something  in  Mother's  idea  of 
setting  him  up  as  a  florist.  And  Mother  could 
help  with  the  flowers. 

"Hello!  ole  feller!  lookout!" 

Stokes  had  stumbled  over  the  fuel  in  the  tender, 
in  replenishing  the  boiler-fires.  He  recovered  him- 
self with  an  oath  at  the  "  slippery  rubbish."  Some- 
thing had  upset  his  temper,  but  he  neither  spoke 
nor  looked  like  a  man  who  had  been  drinking. 
The  teazing,  chilling  drizzle  continued.  The  head- 
light of  the  locomotive  glanced  sharply  from  glazed 
rails  and  embankments ;  the  long  barrel-back  of  the 
engine  shone  as  with  fresh  varnish. 

"  D'ye  know  that  on  a  night  like  this  She  beats 
out  the  tune  o'  Home,  Sweet  Home,  's  plain  as 
ever  you  heerd  a  band  play  it  ?  "  said  Top,  Senior, 
cheerily  out  of  the  thickening  damps.  "  It  makes 
me  see  Mother  'n  the  boy  clear  's  ken  be.  It's  a 
great  thing  fur  a  man  to  hev  a  comfortable  home, 
'n  a  good  woman  in  it ! " 

Stokes  burst  out  vehemently  at  that :  "This  is 


38  A    MODERN    HERO. 

worse  than  a  dog's  life  !  We  —  you  'n  me  —  are 
no  more  to  them  selfish  creturs  in  there  " — nodding 
backwards  at  the  passenger  cars  —  "  then  the  ingine 
that  draws  'em.  I'm  sick  o'  freezin'  an'  slavin' 
an'  bein'  despised  by  men  no  better  'n  I  be  !  How 
a  man  of  any  sperrit  'n'  ambition  ken  stan'  it 
fur  twenty  years  as  you  hev,  beats  my  onder- 
standin'." 

He  will  always  remember  the  pause  that  pre- 
faced the  reply,  and  how  Top,  Senior,  patted  the 
polished  lever  under  his  hand  as  he  spoke  :  "  She's 
a  pretty  respectable  cretur,  take  Her  all  in  all. 
When  you  'n  I  run  into  the  las'  dark  deepo  that's 
waitin'  fur  us  at  the  end,  I  hope  we'll  be  able  to 
show's  good  stiffildts  as  hern.  Here's  the  bridge  ! 
Will  be  soon  home,  now." 

It  was  a  long  bridge,  built  far  out  to  be  above 
high  tides.  As  they  touched  it  the  furnace-door 
flew  open.  Some  said,  afterwards,  that  the  door 
was  not  properly  secured,  others  spoke  of  a  "  back- 
draught,"  others  suspected  that  the  fire  was  over- 
fed. The  volume  of  flame  that  leaped  out  licked 
the  very  faces  of  the  two  men.  They  recoiled  with 


A    MODERN    HERO.  41 

a  bound  and  made  a  simultaneous  rush  for  the  air- 
brake in  the  forward  passenger-car  to  stop  the 
train  and  check  the  backward  sweep  of  the  blaze. 
The  passengers,  seeing  the  flash  and  hearing  the 
whistle  and  shouts  of  "  Down  brakes ! "  pressed 
against  the  front  windows  and  a  dense  living  mass 
blocked  the  door  against  which  Topliffe  Briggs 
flung  all  his  weight. 

"  Git  in  ef  you  ken,"  he  said  to  the  fireman. 
"I'll  try  Her!"  He  fastened  the  shaggy  great- 
coat up  to  his  chin  as  he  faced  the  pursuing  fires, 
walked  forward  to  the  stand  where  lapped  and 
curled  the  fiercest  flames,  laid  hold  of  steam-brake 
and  the  lever  by  which  he  "  drove "  the  engine. 
His  fur-lined  gauntlets  scorched  and  shrivelled  as 
he  grasped  the  bar ;  the  fire  seized  upon  his  hair 
and  garments  with  an  exultant  roar.  He  held  fast. 
He  must  get  the  passengers  off  the  floorless  bridge 
that  might  ignite  at  any  moment.  He  must  check 
the  engine  as  soon  as  he  cleared  the  last  pier,  or  the 
cars  would  take  fire  before  they  could  be  uncoupled. 
He  shut  his  eyes  from  the  maddening  heat  and 
glare,  and  drove  straight  on.  Not  so  fast  as  to 


42  A    MODERN    HERO. 

hurry  the  greedy  flames  that  were  doing  their  worst 
upon  him,  but  at  a  rate  that  ran  them  over  the 
river  and  upon  solid  earth  as  the  fuel  in  the  tender 
burst  into  a  blaze  and  the  forward  car  began  to 
crackle  and  smoke  in  the  hot  draught.  At  that 
point  steam  and  air-brakes  did  their  work  in  effect- 
ing a  safe  halt. 

"The  fireman  was  badly  scorched,"  reported 
the  press  next  day,  "  but  train  and  passengers  were 
saved  by  the  heroism  of  the  engineer." 

The  words  flashed  along  the  wires  overland  and 
ocean  ;  were  set  up  in  startling  type  in  hundreds  of 
newspaper  offices  while  he  who  did  not  know  hero- 
ism by  name  was  breathing  his  last  on  a  mattress 
laid  on  the  yellow-painted  floor  of  the  room  he  had 
seen  so  "  clear  "  when  the  engine-throb  and  piston- 
beat  played  Home,  Sweet  Home.  The  sunshine  that 
had  followed  the  rain  touched  the  white  cheek  of 
the  opened  lily  before  falling  on  his  sightless  eyes 
and  charred  right  hand. 

When  they  brought  him  in  he  knew  whose  silent 
tears  dropped  so  fast  upon  his  face,  and  the  poor 
burned  lips  moved  in  a  husky  whisper.  The  wife 


A   MODERN    HERO.  43 

put  her  ear  close  to  his  mouth  not  to  lose  his  dying 
words : 

"  I  was  afraid  y  oil1  d  see  that  we  was  a-fire.  From 
the  winder.  I  hope  you  —  didn't  —  wake  Junior  !  " 
The  boy  who  had  begged  his  father  to  be  a 
herol 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

X  TOW,  Pettikins,"  said  Benny  Briggs,  on  the  first 
day  of  vacation,  "  come  along  if  you  want  to 
see  the  old  Witch." 

Pettikins  got  her  little  straw  hat,  and  holding 
Benny's  hand  with  a  desperate  clutch,  trotted  along 
beside  him,  giving  frequent  glances  at  his  heroic  face 
to  keep  up  her  courage.  Her  heart  beat  hard  as 
they  took  their  way  across  to  the  island.  The  island 
is  really  no  island  at  all,  but  a  lonely,  lovely  portion 
of  Still  Harbor,  between  Benny's  home  and  Grandma 
Potter's,  which  by  means  of  a  small  inlet  and  a  little 
creek,  and  one  watery  thing  and  another,  is  so  nearly 
surrounded  by  water  as  to  feel  justified  in  calling 
itself  an  island.  They  crossed  over  the  little  bridge 
that  took  them  to  this  would-be  island,  and  following 
an  almost  imperceptible  wood  path,  came  within  sight 
of  the  Witch's  hut.  It  was  a  deserted,  useless,  wood- 
44 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  45 

chopper's  hut,  which  the  mysterious  creature  whom 
the  children  called  a  witch  had  taken  possession  of 
not  long  before.  Here  Fanny  drew  back.  "O 
Benny,  I  am  afraid,"  said  she. 

"  Humph  !  she  can't  hurt  you  in  the  daytime,"  said 
Benny.  "  She  ain't  no  different  in  the  daytime  from 
any  other  old  woman.  It's  only  nights  she  is  a  witch." 

Fanny  allowed  herself  to  be  led  a  few  steps  further, 
and  then  drew  back  again.  "  O  Benny,"  said  she, 
'*  there's  her  broomstick  !  there  it  is,  right  outside  o' 
the  door  —  and  O  Benny,  Benny,  there's  her  old  black 
cat!" 

"  Wai,  what  on  it,  hey  ?  What  on  it  ? "  creaked  a 
dreadful  voice  close  behind  them.  Then,  indeed, 
Fanny  shrieked  and  tried  to  run,  but  Benny's  hand 
held  her  fast.  She  hid  her  face  against  Benny's  arm 
and  sobbed. 

It  was  the  old  Witch  her  very  self.  She  looked  at 
them  out  of  her  glittering  eyes  —  O  how  she  did  look 
at  them  !  —  with  her  head  drooped  until  her  chin 
rested  on  her  chest.  This  seemed  to  bring  the 
arrows  of  her  eyes  to  bear  upon  the  enemy  with 
greater  force  and  precision. 


46  BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

"There  ain't  any  law  ag'in  my  having  a  cat  and  a 
broomstick,  is  there  ? "  she  asked  in  a  voice  like  the 
cawing  of  a  crow,  bringing  her  staff  down  with  a 
thump  at  the  words  "  cat "  and  "  broomstick."  "  What 
are  you  skeered  of  ?  " 

"  Why,  you're  queer,  you  know,"  said  Benny  des- 
perately. 

"  Queer,  queer  ?  "  piped  the  Witch  ;  and  then  she 
laughed,  or  had  a  dreadful  convulsion,  Benny  couldn't 
tell  which,  ending  in  a  long,  gurgling  "  Hoo-oo-oo  !  " 
on  a  very  high  key.  "  Now,  s'pose  you  tell  me  what 
is  't  makes  me  queer,"  said  she,  sitting  down  on  a 
log  and  extracting  from  the  rags  on  her  bosom  a 
pipe,  which  she  prepared  to  smoke. 

"Whew!  "  whistled  Benny,  "  'twould  take  me  from 
now  till  Christmas  ;  I'd  rather  you'd  tell  me." 

The  crone  lighted  her  pipe.  The  match  flaring 
upon  her  wrinkled,  copper-colored  face  and  its  gaunt 
features  made  her  hideous.  Poor  little  Fanny,  who 
ventured  to  peep  out  at  this  moment,  sobbed  louder, 
and  begged  to  go  to  her  mother.  The  old  woman 
puffed  away  at  her  pipe,  fixing  her  gaze  upon  the 
children. 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  47 

"  Got  a  mother,  hey  ?  "  said  she. 

"Yes." 

"And  a  father?" 

"  Yes." 

"Um-m-m." 

She  puffed  and  gazed. 

"  You  wouldn't  like  to  see  'em  shot  ?  " 

At  this  Benny  stood  speechless,  and  Fanny  set  up 
such  a  cry  to  go  home  that  Benny  was  afraid  he 
should  have  to  take  her  away  —  that  is,  if  the  Witch 
would  let  him.  He  began  to  consider  his  chances. 
Still  the  more  terrible  the  old  Witch  seemed,  the 
more  Benny  wanted  to  see  and  hear  her.  He  whis- 
pered to  Fanny : 

11  She  won't  hurt  you,  Pettikins  —  she  can't;  I  won't 
let  her.  Hush  a  minute,  and  see  what  I'm  going  to 
say  to  her  !  " 

Fanny  hushed  a  little,  and  Benny  fixed  an  auda- 
cious gaze  upon  the  Witch  —  or  a  gaze  which  he 
meant  should  be  audacious.  "  What  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  "  said  he. 

The  old  woman  removed  her  pipe  and  sat  holding 
it  with  her  forefinger  lapped  over  it  like  a  hook. 


48  BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

"  They  call  it  '  exterminated,'  "  said  she,  pushing 
back  the  broad-brimmed,  high-crowned  man's  hat  that 
she  wore,  and  showing  her  gray,  ragged  locks. 
"I'm  exterminated.  You  don't  know  what  that  is,  I 
s'pose?" 

"  Exterminated,  ex-£rr-min-ated,"  said  Benny, 
scratching  his  head,  "  why,  to  —  to  —  drive  out  —  to 
— ah  —  put  an  end  to  —  to  —  to  —  destroy  utterly." 

"I  don't  know  what  your  book  meaning  is.  I 
didn't  get  mine  from  books.  I  got  it  all  the  way 
along — began  to  get  it  when  I  wasn't  much  bigger'n 
that  little  gell,"  said  the  Witch,  pointing  at  Fanny  with 
her  pipe.  "  I  didn't  know  what  it  meant  when  I  first 
heard  it,  but  I  know  now.  Hoo-oo-oo-oo ! " 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  us  about  it,"  said  Benny.  "Tell 
us  about  beginning  to  learn  it  when  you  wa'n't  much 
bigger'n  Pettikins." 

"That's  when  the  colonel  said  we  must  move 
west'ard,"  said  the  witch,  laying  her  pipe  down  on 
the  log,  leaning  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  resting 
her  bony  jaws  in  the  palms  of  her  hands.  "  Injuns, 
before  they're  exterminated,  stick  to  their  homes  like 
other  folks." 


BENNY'S  WIGMAM.  51 

"You  ain't  an  Injun ,  be  you!"  gasped  Benny, 
with  a  look  and  tone  which  expressed  volumes  of 
consternation  and  disappointment  at  her  utter  failure 
to  come  up  to  his  ideal  Indian.  Why,  she  wasn't  the 
least  bit  like  the  pictures  !  She  wasn't  like  the  mag- 
nificent figures  he  had  seen  in  front  of  the  cigar 
stores  in  New  Haven.  Where  were  all  her  feathers 
and  things  —  her  red  and  yellow  tunic,  her  gorgeous 
moccasons,  her  earrings  and  noserings  and  bracelets 
and  arrnlets  and  beads  ?  Why,  she  was  ju-u-u-ust  as 
ragged  and  dirty ! 

All  this  and  more  Benny's  tone  expressed  when  he 
said :  "  Why,  you  ain't  an  Injun,  be  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was.  I  ain't  nothing  at  all  now.  I  ain't 
even  a  squaw,  and  they  said  they  was  going  to  make 
a  Christian  on  me.  I  was  a  Chetonquin." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Benny,  looking  at  her  now  with 
the  interest  attaching  to  one  who  had  worn  the  feath- 
ers, and  beads,  and  moccasons,  and  rings.  "  Well, 
what  did  you  do  when  the  colonel  told  you  to  go 
West  ? " 

"  We  had  a  fight." 

That   was   satisfactory  to  Benny.     "  Which  whip- 


52  BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

ped  ?  "  he  asked,  with  his  own  native  briskness,  as  if 
this,  now,  was  common  ground,  and  he  was  ready  to 
talk  at  his  ease. 

"  Which  a'most  always  whips  ?  It  was  a  hard  fight. 
I  hid  behind  a  big  tree  and  watched  it.  When 
I  saw  my  father  shot  I  started  to  go  to  him  and  a 
shot  struck  me.  See  there  ! "  said  she,  pushing  up 
her  coarse  gray  locks  and  showing  a  deeper,  wider 
seam  than  the  creases  and  wrinkles  on  her  face. 
"  A  bullet  grazed  me  hard  and  I  was  stunned  and 
blinded  with  the  blood,  and  couldn't  run,  but  my 
people  had  to.  They  didn't  any  on  'em  see  or  know 
about  me,  I  s'pose,  and  I  laid  there  and  sorter  went 
to  sleep.  Colonel  Hammerton  took  a  notion  to  pick 
me  up  when  he  rode  over  the  ground  he  had  soaked 
with  the  blood  of  my  people  — ground  that  belonged  to 
my  people,"  shrieked  the  woman,  straightening  herself 
up  and  shaking  her  fists  in  the  air. 

Benny  liked  that.  Even  Fanny  gazed  at  the  strange 
creature  with  fascination.  And  when  the  Indian's 
excitement  abated  and  she  ceased  to  mutter  and  chat- 
ter to  herself  and  sunk  her  face  into  her  palms  again, 
gazing  absently  on  the  ground,  Fanny  pulled  Benny's 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  53 

sleeve  and  whispered,  "  Ask  her  what  he  did  then, 
after  he  picked  her  up." 

"  What  did  he  do  with  you  then  ?  "  ventured  Benny. 

The  old  woman  started,  and  gazed  at  them  curiously, 
as  if  she  had  forgotten  all  about  them,  and  had  to  re- 
call them  out  of  the  distant  past.  "  What  did  who 
do  ?  "  said  she. 

"  What  did  Colonel  Hammerton  do  with  you  when 
he  picked  you  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  who  picked  me  up  —  thought 
'twas  some  of  my  people,  I  s'pose.  Colonel  Hammer- 
ton  carried  me  off  to  the  fort,  and  then  took  me  to 
Washington  :  said  he  was  going  to  make  a  Christian 
on  me.  I  had  to  stay  in  houses  —  sleep  in  houses  ! — 
like  being  nailed  up  in  a  box.  Ugh  !  what  a  misery 
'tis  to  be  made  a  Christian  on  !  Hoo-oo-oo-oo-oo ! 
You  wouldn't  want  to  know  all  the  racks  and  miseries 
and  fights  and  grinds  on  it.  I  guess  they  got  sick 
on  it  themselves,  for  after  I'd  tried  a  many  times  to 
get  away  from  houses,  and  been  brought  back,  I  tried 
again  and  they  let  me  go,  and  I've  been  a-going  ever 
since.  I  asked  for  my  people,  and  they  told  me  they 
was  exterminated,  every  one  on  'em.  Yes,  I've  been 


54  BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

a-going  ever  since,  but  I  can't  go  any  more.  I  hope 
they'll  let  me  stay  in  these  forests  'till  the  Great 
Spirit  takes  me  away  to  my  people.  He  can't  find 
me  in  the  houses,  but  if  I  keep  out  in  the  forest,  I 
hope  he'll  find  me  soon.  It's  been  a  weary,  long 
time." 

"  Are  you  two  hundred  years  old  ?  "  asked  Benny 
softly.  "  That's  what  folks  say." 

"Two  hunderd  ?  Hoo-oo-oo-oo  !  ta/0  hunderd  ?  I'm 
ten  hundered,  if  I'm  a  day,"  said  the  poor  old  creat- 
ure. "But  don't  be  afeard  on  me  —  I  hope  there 
won't  be  anybody  afeard  on  me  here,  for  then  they'd 
be  driving  on  me  off,  or  shutting  me  up  again  some- 
where where  the  Great  Spirit  can't  find  me.  Tell 
your  people  not  to  be  skeered  on  me  —  ask  'em  to  let 
me  stay  here." 

The  sad  old  eyes  looked  wistfully  at  Benny,  whose 
generous  heart  took  up  the  poor  Indian's  cause  at 
once. 

"  You  can  stay  here  fast  enough,"  said  he.  "  I 
know  who  these  woods  belong  to  —  some  o'  my  rela- 
tions. There  won't  anybody  be  afraid  of  you.  Me 
'n  'Bijah'll  take  care  of  you." 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  55 

"  O,  bless  you ! "  said  she.  "  I  thought  I'd  got  to  the 
right  place  when  I  got  here — it  looked  like  it  —  it 
felt  like  it.  It  seemed  a'most  as  if  I  most  expected 
to  see  wigwams.  A-h-h-h-h,  if  I  could  sleep  in  a  wig- 
wam !  " 

Benny  felt  that  he  could  sympathize  with  her  in 
that.  He  and  the  boys  had  played  Indians  and 
'Bijah  had  built  wigwams  for  them  in  the  wood,  and 
he  had  greatly  wished  and  entreated  to  be  allowed  to 
sleep  all  night  in  one.  But  he  could  not  guess  at  the 
longing  of  the  aged  to  go  back  to  the  things  dear  and 
familiar  to  them  in  childhood;  he  did  not  know  that 
all  the  old  Indian's  days  were  spent  in  dreaming  of 
those  things,  and  that  she  often  wandered  all  night  in 
the  woods,  fancying  herself  surrounded  by  the  wig- 
wams of  her  people  —  searching  anxiously  for  that 
of  her  father.  Though  Benny  could  understand  noth- 
ing of  the  pathetic  sadness,  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
offer  consolation  and  cheer,  and  he  said,  "  I  can 
build  wigwams.  Me  'n  'Bijah'll  make  you  a  wig- 
wam ! " 

But  the  aged  Chetonquin  muttered  to  herself  in  a 
tuneless  quaver,  and  shook  her  head  doubtingly. 


56  BENNY'S   WIGWAM. 

"  What  /  She  don't  believe  it !  "  Benny  exclaimed 
to  himself.  "  Don't  believe  that  'Bijah  can  make 
wigwams  !  We'll  show  her  !  " 

And  he  was  so  eager  to  be  about  it  that  he  took 
leave  directly  of  his  strange  acquaintance,  who  seemed 
lost  in  reverie,  and  to  have  forgotten  him  entirely. 

When  Mr.  a«d  Mrs.  Briggs  heard  Benny's  story  of 
the  poor  Indian  woman,  their  excellent  hearts  were 
at  once  filled  with  compassion  for  so  forlorn  a  creat- 
ure. Mr.  Briggs  had  very  radical  theories  about  equal 
mercy  and  justice  for  each  member  of  the  human 
race. 

"  It  isn't  likely,"  he  often  said,  "  that  some  have 
a  right  to  be  in  this  world  and  others  haven't ; "  and 
he  immediately  set  himself  to  illustrate  his  theories 
in  the  case  of  the  Chetonquin. 

Mrs.  Briggs  said  there  could  be  not  doubt  that  she 
needed  other  things  besides  wigwams,  which  conjec- 
ture was  found  to  be  sadly  true  upon  investigation. 
An  attempt  was  made  to  put  this  last  of  the  Che  ton- 
quins  into  more  comfortable  quarters,  but  she  received 
the  suggestion  with  dismay,  and  prayed  so  earnestly 
to  be  left  on  the  spot  she  seemed  to  think  was  like 


BENNYS     WIGWAM. 


57 


her  own  native  forest,  that  it  was  decided  to  make  her 
as  comfortable  as  possible  there,  since  it  was  early 
summer  and  no  harm  could  come  from  exposure. 
When  the  weather  was  cold  again,  she  would  be  glad 
to  be  sheltered  elsewhere.  So  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Briggs, 
Grandma  Potter  and  'Bijah,  took  care  that  she 
needed  nothing,  and  left  her  to  be  happy  in  her 
own  way. 

Her  shattered  mind,  little  by  little,  let  go  of  every- 
thing save  the  memories  of  her  childhood.  All  the 
people  of  the  neighboring  region,  old  and  young,  came 
to  understand  and  respect  the  sorrows  of  the  poor 
creature  they  had  talked  of  as  a  witch.  But  the  most 
friendly  people  seemed  to  disturb  her  —  to  break  in 
upon  her  dreams  —  and  children,  especially,  were  not 
allowed  to  visit  her. 

Benny  could  not  forego,  however,  the  pleasure  he 
had  promised  himself,  of  getting  'Bijah  to  help  him 
make  a  fine  wigwam  in  the  woods,  and  saying  to  old 
Winneenis  —  as  she  called  herself  —  "  There  !  what 
d'ye  call  that?  There's  a  wigwam  for  ye,  'n  me  'n 
'Bijah  made  it,  too  !  " 

Benny  might  make  as  many  wigwams  as  he  pleased, 


58  BENNY'S  WIGWAM. 

Mr.  Briggs  said,  "  but  he  was  not  to  go  near  or  disturb 
old  Winneenis." 

One  extremity  of  the  island  was  in  the  vicinity  of 
Grandma  Potter's,  and  Benny  passed  a  good  many 
days  of  his  vacation  at  Grandma's.  One  day  Benny 
said  to  'Bijah,  "Now  you  can  make  that  wigwam, 
can't  you,  '  Bijah?  You  said  you  would  when  the  hay 
was  all  in,  and  it  is  ail  in,  ain't  it  ?  Le's  make  it 
to-day  over  there  in  the  woods,  on  the  island.  The 
boys  are  coming  over  to-morrow,  and  I  want  to  have 
it  done  before  they  get  here.  Say,  will  you,  'Bijah  ?  " 

"Wai,  I'd  know  but  I  can,"  said  'Bijah. 

"  I  want  a  real  one,"  said  Benny,  "  life-size,  just 
like  them  you  saw  when  you  was  out  there  to 
Dakota — none  o'  your  baby-houses." 

'Bijah  went  up-stairs  into  the  barn  chamber,  hum- 
ming The  Sweet  By  and  By,  and  Benny  accompa- 
nied him  in  doing  both.  'Bijah  opened  an  enormous 
chest  and  pulled  out  a  lot  of  old  buffalo  and  other 
robes,  the  worn-out  and  moth-eaten  accumulation  of 
years,  not  to  say  generations,  and  sitting  down,  took 
out  his  jack-knife  and  ripped  the  ragged  linings  out 
of  several  that  were  pretty  well  divested  of  their  fur, 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  59 

and  making  a  pile  of  skins,  old  horse  blankets  and 
lap  rugs,  he  said,  "  Now,  then,  sir,  we'll  have  a  wig- 
wam fit  for  old  Black  Hawk  himself." 

And  you  may  be  sure  'Bijah  was  as  good  as  his 
word.  He  got  out  old  Tom  and  the  wagon,  and  he 
and  Benny  and  the  skins  and  blankets  all  got  in  and 
drove  over  to  the  woods  on  the  island,  and  there 
'Bijah  cut  poles  and  made  the  finest  wigwam  ever 
seen  this  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  —  or  the  other 
side  either,  for  that  matter.  They  spread  blankets 
on  the  ground  inside,  and  Benny  declared  it  wanted 
nothing  but  a  few  Indians  and  tomahawks  and  bows 
and  arrows  lying  round  to  make  it  look  just  like  the 
picture  in  his  g'ography. 

Benny's  last  thought  was  of  his  wigwam  that  night 
as  he  slid  off  into  the  delicious  sleep  that  only  rosy- 
cheeked,  tired  boys  know.  He  dreamed  he  was  the 
chief  of  a  powerful  tribe,  and  that  he  found  old  Win- 
neenis,  not  old  any  longer,  but  a  little  girl  like  Fanny, 
crying  in  the  forest  because  she  couldn't  find  her 
way  to  her  people,  and  that  he  took  her  by  the  hand 
and  led  her  home.  Her  shout  of  rapture  when  she 
found  herself  once  more  with  her  people,  wakened 


60  BENNY'S   WIGWAM. 

Benny,  and  he  saw  it  was  morning,  and  the  shout  he 
had  heard  instead  of  being  that  of  little  Winneenis, 
was  grandma's  voice  calling  him  to  get  up.  He  was 
rather  disappointed  to  find  he  wasn't  a  powerful 
chief,  but  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  of 
his  uncommonly  fine  wigwam,  and  hurried  down 
stairs  to  see  what  time  it  was,  for  the  boys  were  to 
come  on  the  early  train,  and  he  meant  to  go  right 
over  to  the  woods  with  them. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  his  breakfast  when  the 
boys  arrived,  and  they  all  started  for  the  woods  in 
great  glee. 

On  the  way,  Benny  told  them  the  story  of 
old  Winneenis,  and  the  boys  were  full  of  wonder, 
interest,  and  curiosity  to  see  her. 

Upon  reaching  the  wigwam,  they  admired  its  out- 
side, agreed  that  nothing  in  that  style  of  architecture 
could  surpass  it. 

"And  now,"  said  Benny,  "see  how  nice  'tis  in- 
side," and  he  took  a  peep  in  himself.  "  Why,"  whis- 
pered he,  drawing  back,  "she's  here — she's  here  in 
the  wigwam,  sound  asleep,  and  she  looks  awful  glad. 
Sh-sh"  —  with  a  warning  shake  of  his  finger  —  "we 


BENNY'S  WIGWAM.  61 

mustn't  disturb  her ;  father  said  I  mustn't.  Le's  go 
away  and  wait  till  she  wakes  up." 

They  each  took  a  peep  at  the  old  Indian  woman 
and  went  away  softly. 

They  remained  in  sight  of  the  wigwam,  exhausting 
every  device  for  wearing  away  the  time,  and  Joe's 
watch  was  frequently  consulted.  Time  and  patience 
wore  away  together. 

"  There,"  said  Charlie,  at  last,  "we've  waited  long 
enough;  we  ought  to  wake  her  up  now." 

"  It  might  make  her  crazy  again  to  see  such  a  lot 
of  us,  and  I  — I  don't  like  to,"  said  Benny.  "I'll 
go  'n  ask  'Bijah  what  to  do." 

They  went  and  brought  'Bijah,  who  said  he  should 
think  likely  she  would  want  to  sleep  a  spell,  she  must 
be  pretty  well  beat  out,  pokin'  around  all  night. 
He'd  heard  her  making  them  queer  noises  o'  hern 
^something  like  a  hoarse  kind  o'  Phcebe  bird,  it 
sounded,  in  the  distance. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  he  began,  in  a  low  tone, 
stooping  and  peering  in  at  the  wigwam ;  but,  contrary 
to  his  words,  he  did  look  very  much  surprised  indeed. 

He   stepped   into   the   wigwam   and   touched  the 


62  BENNY'S   WIGWAM. 

sleeper  gently.  Then  he  shook  his  head  at  the  boys 
and  motioned  them  away,  and  when  he  came  out, 
they  understood  from  his  look,  that  old  Winneenis 
was  dead. 

Wandering,  as  was  her  wont  at  night,  she  had 
come  upon  Benny's  wigwam,  standing  in  the  clear 
moonlight,  and  to  her  longing,  bewildered  mind  it 
had  probably  seemed  the  wigwam  of  her  father. 
Who  can  ever  know  the  joy,  the  feeling  of  peace,  and 
rest,  and  relief,  with  which  she  laid  her  tired  bones 
down  in  it,  and  fell  asleep,  a  care-free  child  once 
more,  and  thus  passed  from  its  door  into  the  happy 
hunting-grounds?  And  Benny  always  felt  glad  the 
wigwam  had  been  built. 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

T^VERY  year  a  few  of  the  blest  among  the 
-* — '  boys  of  Still  Harbor  were  taken  to  New 
Haven  or  New  London  to  see  the  Greatest  Show 
on  Earth,  while  the  unlucky  remainder  were  obliged 
to  content  themselves  with  what  imagination  could 
do  for  them.  But  one  memorable  year  Mr. 
P.  T.  Barnum  landed  and  magnified  himself  on 
our  own  fences.  His  magnanimity  ran  over  and 
flamed  into  Still  Harbor,  bringing  all  his  miracles  and 
monsters  to  our  very  doors,  as  it  were,  and  we  had 
no  more  miserable  boys.  But  we  had  plenty  of  boys 
who  aspired  to  be  miracles  and  monsters,  or  boys 
who  essayed  the  trapeze,  the  tight  rope,  the  flying 
leap  and  all  sorts  of  possible  and  impossible  acrobatic 
contortions  and  distortions. 

Eminent  among  these  was  Benny  Briggs,  for  if  you 
looked  high  enough,  you  could  see  him  any  day  with 

63 


64  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

a  balancing  pole  in  his  hand,  walking  on  the  ridge- 
poles and  fences,  or  making  of  himself  all  sorts  of 
peduncles  and  pendulums  ;  bringing  about  in  his 
own  individual  person  the  most  astonishing  inver- 
sions, subversions  and  retroversions,  and  the  most 
remarkable  twists  and  lurches  and  topsey-turveys 
and  topplings-over. 

But  there  was  one  opportunity  that  Benny's  soar- 
ing ambition  had  not  embraced.  His  active  mind 
had  never  yet  discovered  the  possibility  of  a  real 
tight  rope.  For  a  real  tight  rope  he  languished,  on  a 
tight  rope  he  yearned  to  walk.  The  clothes  line  was 
a  little  too  slender ;  his  sister  Fanny's  skipping  rope 
was  not  only  too  slender,  but  too  short ;  and  these 
were  the  only  ropes  of  his  acquaintance.  The  ridge- 
poles and  fences  only  mocked  at  his  ideal.  He 
wanted  something  that  hung  unsupported  ;  something 
airy;  something  worthy  of  the  acrobatic  art,  upon 
which  he  could  walk  with  credit  and  grace,  and, 
reaching  the  end,  bow  and  kiss  his  hand  to  the  spec- 
tators, before  returning.  For  this  he  searched  by 
day,  and  of  this  he  dreamed  by  night.  And  one  day 
he  found  it. 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  65 

"  Benny,"  said  his  mother  on  the  morning  of  that 
day,  "  your  grandmother  Potter  has  sent  for  you  to 
come  over.  She's  going  to  have  uncle  John's  and 
uncle  Calvin's  boys  there.  You'll  like  that,  won't 
you  ? " 

"  Hi !  "  shouted  Benny,  throwing  up  his  new  straw 
hat,  the  sign  and  seal  of  pleasant  summer  weather, 
"  I'd  like  to  see  the  fellow  that  wouldn't ! " 

At  nine  o'clock  that  morning  —  at  exactly  nine 
o'clock  —  Benny  started.  His  mother  remembered 
it  well,  for  she  looked  up  at  the  clock  and  said  : 

"  Now,  don't  hurry,  Benny ;  go  along  easily  and 
you'll  get  there  before  ten,"  for  grandmother  Potter's 
was  scarcely  two  miles  back  in  the  country,  and 
Benny  thought  nothing  of  stepping  over  there,  espe- 
cially when  inducements  were  offered. 

He  called  his  dog  Sandy,  and  marched  off  with  a 
light  step  and  a  light  heart ;  but  his  hands  remained 
at  home,  that  is  to  say,  his  hands  were  nowhere  so 
much  at  home  as  in  his  trousers  pockets,  and  there 
they  reposed,  while  Benny  paced  along,  whistling 
"  Not  for  Joseph,  not  if  I  knows  it,"  and  Sandy 
nosing  it  all  the  way.  His  mother  watched  him  with 


66  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

pride  as  usual ,  the  neighbors  saw  him  go  by  and 
said,  "  There  goes  Benny  Briggs  ,  he  hain't  broken 
his  neck  yet,  but  I  presume  to  say  that'll  be  the  next 
thing  he  does." 

Uncle  John's  and  uncle  Calvin's  boys  from  New 
Haven,  arrived  early  at  grandmother  Potter's,  a  place 
which  seemed  to  them  to  contain  all  the  pleasures  of 
all  the  spheres,  for  grandmother's  weakness  was  for 
boys,  and  nothing  suited  her  better  than  getting  all 
her  grandsons  together  and  giving  them  "  full  swing," 
as  Abijah  called  it,  and  Abijah  was  made  by  nature 
to  help  grandmother  out  in  her  benevolent  plans. 
He  instituted  jolly  measures,  and  contrived  possibil- 
ities of  riot  and  revel  that  no  mortal  ever  thought  of 
before.  As  circuses  were  the  fashion  in  urchin 
society,  on  that  particular  day,  Abijah,  like  a  wizard, 
had  called  up  out  of  the  farm  resources,  and  out  of 
certain  mysterious  resources  of  his  own,  that  were  so 
plainly  of  unearthly  origin  that  it  was  of  no  use  in  the 
world  to  try  to  look  into  or  understand  them,  such  a 
circus  as  would  have  made  not  only  P.  T.  Barnum, 
but  the  ancient  Romans  themselves  perfectly  miser- 
able with  envy.  There  was  the  trapeze,  the  tight 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  67 

rope,  the  —  well,  alas,  I  don't  know  the  names  of 
them  all,  having  had  a  limited  education  in  such 
matters,  but  there  they  all  were,  whatever  they  are 
called — those  things  that  make  a  perfect,  finished,  spal- 
cn -did,  be-yeu-ti-tu\  circus.  There  were  hoops  with 
tissue  paper  pasted  over  them,  to  be  jumped  through 
by  the  most  wonderful  bareback  riders  on  earth,  and 
old  Tom,  grandmother's  own  horse,  was  perfectly 
safe  as  a  trained  Arabian  steed,  when  'Bijah  was  there 
to  see  how  the  thing  was  managed.  Everything  was 
safe  and  sure  and  delightful  when  'Bijah  had  charge 
of  it.  Nothing  ever  went  wrong,  or  upset,  or  came 
to  a  sorry  end  with  him  or  his  plans.  He  knew  what 
he  was  about,  and  ends  with  him  were  even  more 
brilliant  and  satisfactory  than  beginnings  and  means. 
I  shouldn't  dare  to  fully  tell  you  what  good  times  the 
boys  had  at  grandmother  Potter's,  especially  on 
Fourth  of  Julys,  Thanksgivings,  Christmases  and 
birthdays,  for  fear  of  making  all  the  boys  who 
couldn't  go  there,  discontented  and  low  spirited  for 
the  rest  of  their  lives.  I'm  sorry  for  those  boys,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  may  as  well  go  on  and  tell  them 
about  Benny  Briggs.  He  was  preparing  to  be  very 


68  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

discontented  and  low  spirited  just  at  the  moment  when 
Joe  and  Will  and  Harry  and  Rob  and  Charlie  and 
Morris  and  Cad  were  shouting  their  exultation  at  the 
only  wonderful  circus  on  earth.  They  all  decided 
that  the  performances  were  not  to  begin,  however, 
until  Benny  Briggs  arrived.  There  could  be  no  circus 
without  Ben.  No,  indeed  !  There  were  stars  of  the 
arena  among  them,  of  various  magnitudes,  but  Benny 
was  the  comet  that  outshone  and  outstripped  them 
all. 

"Why  don't  he  come  along?"  said  Charlie,  danc- 
ing a  double-shuffle  on  the  bam  floor  to  let  off  his 
impatience. 

"  Let's  go  and  look  for  him,"  said  Joe,  and  they 
all  shuffled  off  down  to  the  gate,  thinking  to  see  Benny 
with  his  nose  pointed  straight  for  that  gate,  or  as 
straight  as  could  be  expected,  considering  its  faithful- 
ness in  another  direction.  But  no  Benny  was  to  be 
seen. 

"  He  can't  be  far  off,"  said  Joe,  seizing  an  oppor- 
tunity to  look  at  his  new  silver  watch,  "  for  it's  half- 
past  ten  now,  and  Ben  is  always  here  before  ten  — • 
always  was,  I  mean." 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  69 

i 
"  Let's  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  meet  him," 

proposed  Will ;  "  we  can  see  him  from  there  any- 
how." 

So  Charlie  and  Joe  and  Morris  and  Will  and  Cad 
started  for  the  top  of  the  hill,  while  Harry  and  Rob, 
who  were  a  good  deal  inclined  to  wait  for  things  to 
come  to  them,  remained  to  swing  on  the  gate. 

The  five  spies  soon  returned  and  reported  that 
Benny  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Impatience  now 
seized  them  all,  and  they  flocked  into  the  house  to 
put  it  to  grandma  whether  it  wasn't  mighty  queer 
that  Ben  Briggs  hadn't  come. 

"He  kasn't cornel"  exclaimed  grandma,  looking  up 
over  her  glasses  at  the  clock.  "  Why,  what  can  be  the 
matter?  It's  almost  eleven  o'clock  !  " 

"  It's  one  minute  and  a  quarter  past,"  said  Joe, 
appealing  to  his  watch.  "  Your  clock's  'leven  minutes 
slow." 

"O,  get  out!"  said  Charlie,  with  a  contemptuous 
sniff.  "  All  the  clocks  are  either  fast  or  slow,  accord- 
ing to  that  turnip." 

Here  would  have  ensued  a  good  deal  of  pro  and 
con  about  watches,  but  grandma  held  them  to  the 


70  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

subject  of  Benny  Briggs.  She  drew  from  them  that 
they  had  been  to  the  very  top  of  the  hill  and  couldn't 
see  him  coming. 

Grandma  was  surprised  and  disappointed.  "It's 
incomprehensible,"  said  she. 

"  O,  I  say,  grandma,"  groaned  Charlie,  flopping 
into  a  chair  and  fanning  himself,  with  his  hat,  "  what 
a  big  word !  In-com-pre-hen-si-ble  !  And  the  other 
day  you  said  Prist-by-te-ri-an-ism  !  O  my  !  " 

"  P-p-p-p-pooh !  "  stuttered  Morris,  who  was  always 
a  little  ahead  of  everybody,  except  in  conversation ; 
"  I  know  a  1-1-1-1-longer  word." 

"  Let's  hear  you  say  it,  then,"  shouted  the  rest  of 
the  boys. 

"  Takes  you  to  make  long  words,"  said  Charlie. 

"  I-i-i-i-i-i-i  "  —  began  Morris,  embarrassed  by  the 
evident  want  of  confidence  in  his  ability. 

"  Go  it ! "  said  Charlie. 

"  Fire  away  !  "  said  Joe. 

"  In-co-co-co-co-co  "  proceeded  Morris. 

"  Spell  it ! "  suggested  Harry. 

"  I-n,  in,  c-o-m-e,  come,"  spelled  Morris  with  great 
fluency,  and  then  stopped  short. 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  71 

"Income!"  exclaimed  two  or  three  voices  disdain- 
fully. "  Call  that  a  long  word  ?  Ho-ho  !  " 

"  N-n-no  ;  wa-wa-wa-wait  a  minute,"  implored  Morris, 
tugging  at  a  button  on  his  jacket,  and  fixing  a  studi- 
ous, inquiring  gaze  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

"  Write  it,"  said  Will. 

"  I  c-c-c-c-can't,"  said  poor  Morris  gloomily. 

"  Give  it  up,  then,"  recommended  Joe. 

"  No  sir"  said  Charlie,  putting  his  feet  up  in  a 
second  chair  and  making  himself  comfortable,  "  I 
don't  give  it  up,  sir;  I'm  going  to  know  what  this 
bumper  of  a  word  is." 

"  Well,  how  are  we  ever  going  to  know  if  Morris 
can't  say  it  nor  spell  it  nor  write  it  ? ''  demanded  Joe. 

"  Mebby  he  can  thing  it,"  said  little  Cad. 

"  Good  for  you,  Caddy  !  "  said  Charlie.  "  You've 
hit  it;  Morris  can  sing  fast  enough.  Now,  Morris, 
we'll  sing,  '  I  love  to  go  to  Sunday-school,'  and  you 
sing  your  word  instead  of  those.  Begin,  boys  !  Sing 
loud,  Morris. " 

So  the  boys  all  sang  softly  — 

I  love,  I  love,  I  love,  I  love, 
I  love  to  go  to  Sunday-school  — 


72  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

except  Morris,  who  sang  with  a  triumphant  shout 

I  love,  I  love,  I  love,  I  love, 
In-com-pre-hen-si-bil-i-ty ! 

and  the  boys  gave  him  three  cheers. 

At  that  moment  grandma  purposely  left  the  pantry 
door  open,  and  there,  disclosed  to  view,  was  a  land  of 
promise ;  a  row  of  delicious  little  cakes,  with  choc- 
olate frosting,  smiling  on  the  pantry  shelf.  The  boys 
instantly  crossed  over  to  this  inviting  land  and  took 
possession,  while  grandma,  who  was  sometimes  rather 
unwise  in  her  loving  kindness,  looked  greatly  pleased. 

"  I  do  wish  Benny  was  here,"  said  she.  "  Boys," 
she  added,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  come  to  her,  "  go 
and  tell  'Bijah  I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

The  boys  clattered  out  —  a  stampede  of  young 
colts,  it  seemed  —  and  soon  returned,  each  doing  his 
part  in  bringing  'Bijah,  for  every  separate  boy  had 
hold  of  him  somewhere,  as  if  at  the  least  laxity  on 
their  part  there  was  danger  of  his  escape.  'Bijah 
grinned  broadly  and  bore  it  bravely. 

"  'Bijah,"  said  grandma  Potter,  "  I  must  have 
Benny  here  to  dinner ;  I  can't  have  his  place  vacant. 


BENNY'S    DISAPPEARANCE. 


73 


What  can  have  kept  him  away  ? "  she  added,  as  if  to 
herself.  "  1  hope  he  hasn't  been  doing  anything  he 
ought  not  to  —  he's  such  a  little  rogue." 

"  Wai,  I  d'  know's  I  should  be  for  goin'  so  fur's  to 
say  that.  Mis'  Potter,  but  Benny  is  curis,  and  mebby 
he  has  slipped  over  to  Spain  or  France  before  comin' 
round  here,"  said  'Bijah. 

"  O  dear  !  "  groaned  grandmother,  the  names  of 
these  far-away  regions  giving  her  a  sense  of  exposure 
and  danger,  "  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  my 
Benny.  'Bijah,  you  must  harness  up  and  go  over  and 
s  :e  what's  the  matter." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  'Bijah,  turning  to  obey,  and  every 
boy  set  up  a  petition  that  he  should  go  in  the  long 
wagon  and  let  them  go  too.  So  in  the  long  wagon 
they  went,  shouting  and  whistling  and  singing  along, 
with  their  eyes  wide  open  to  catch  a  sight  of  Benny, 
if  by  chance  he  should  be  coming,  loitering  on  his 
way.  But  not  one  of  them  looked  in  the  right  direction. 

In  spite  of  Benny's  frequent  little  derelictions  from 
the  path  he  might  have  been  expected  to  walk  in,  his 
mother  was  greatly  surprised  and  troubled  to  hear 
that  he  had  not  arrived  at  his  grandmother's,  and, 


74  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

furthermore,  that  he  had  not  been  seen  on  the  road. 

"  Why,  nothing  could  have  tempted  him  to  stay 
away  from  grandma's,"  said  she.  "  Still,"  she  added 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  he  may  have  gone  by 
the  Brook  road  and  met  Johnny  Barstow.  If  he  has, 
and  then  stopped  lo  do  a  little  fishing,  he  would 
never  think  how  the  time  was  flying.  I  never  saw  a 
boy  who  had  so  little  idea  of  time  as  Benny." 

"Wai,"  said  'Bijah,  "  we'll  go  down  the  brook  road 
way  'n  see  'f  we  c'n  ketch  this  young  trout." 

So  they  returned  by  the  Brook,  but  found  no 
Benny,  and  Johnny  Barstow  hadn't  seen  him. 

Every  ray  of  the  calm  smile  which  usually  shone  in 
grandma  Potter's  face  faded  when  she  saw  'Bijah  and 
the  boys  come  back  without  Benny  and  heard  of 
their  fruitless  search.  She  sat  silently  down  in  her 
rocking-chair,  and  her  dear,  sweet  old  face  was  pale. 

"  'Bijah,"  said  she  at  length,  "  you  must  take  the 
colt  and  the  light  buggy  and  go  —  go  somewhere  — 
anywhere — everywhere,  until  you  find  him.  No, 
boys,  you  can't  go.  'Bijah  mustn't  be  hindered." 

'Bijah  was  at  a  loss  where  to  go,  but  he  obeyed 
directions,  and  went  somewhere,  anywhere*  and  it 


BENNY  S    DISAPPEARANCE. 


75 


seemed  as  if  he  had  been  everywhere,  and  inquired 
at  every  house  in  and  about  Still  Harbor,  along  the 
shore,  in  the  woods  and  through  the  fields,  but  nobody 
had  seen  Benny  since  about  nine  o'clock  that  morn- 
ing. 

At  last  he  went  again  to  see  if  Benny,  perhaps,  had 
got  home. 

"  What !  "  cried  Mrs.  Briggs,  when  she  saw  'Bijah 
come  the  second  time,  "  he  hasn't  come  ?  You 
haven't  found  him  ?  O,  my  boy,  my  boy !  " 

"  O,  now,  Mis'  Briggs,  don't  you  go  to  worry  about 
Benny,"  said  'Bijah.  "  I  never  see  a  boy  't  knew  how 
to  take  care  of  himself  better'n  Benny.  He'll  turn 
up  all  right,  you'll  see." 

But  in  spite  of  his  apparent  cheerfulness,  'Bijah  was 
a  good  deal  troubled  himself.  Where  could  Benny 
be,  unless  at  the  bottom  of  the  Sound  ? 

'Bijah  in  his  search  had  already  been  to  Mr. 
Briggs'  store  to  inquire  for  Benny,  and  in  starting  to 
go  there  again,  he  met  Mr.  Briggs  coming  home.  He 
and  'Bijah  discussed  the  possibilities  and  probabilities 
of  Benny's  case,  and  Mr.  Briggs  agreed  to  send  word 
over  to  grandma  Potter  if  Benny  came  home,  and 


76  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

'Bijah  agreed  to  come  directly  over  and  tell  his  father 
and  mother  if  Benny  should  reach  his  grandmother's 
at  the  eleventh  hour. 

The  eleventh  hour  arrived,  however,  and  still  no 
Benny.  The  boys  sat  in  the  barn  door  and  wondered 
in  voices  hushed  almost  to  whispers,  where  Benny 
could  be. 

**  Where  is  Benny  ?  "  asked  little  Fanny  again  and 
again.  "  O,  where  is  Benny?"  moaned  his  poor 
mother;  and  the  question  sank  like  lead  into  his 
father's  heart.  Grandma  raised  her  gentle  eyes  and 
asked  it  of  Heaven  itself,  and  you,  my  children,  by 
this  time  are  asking  it  of  me.  I  feel  bound  to  tell 
you  this  much  :  Benny  was  —  I  shudder  to  say  it  — 
Benny  was  enduring  the  fate  once  proposed  for  Mr. 
Jefferson  Davis. 

The  sun  was  getting  low,  the  shadows  were  long 
on  the  grass,  and  Benny's  pitiful  shadow  as  it 
lengthened,  stretched  nearer  and  nearer  home.  Ah, 
would  he  ever  get  there  himself  again  ? 

It  was  milking  time.  'Bijah  sat  milking  the  cows 
in  the  barnyard,  when  in  bounced  Sandy.  He  hadn't 
come  on  Benny's  account,  that  was  plain.  He  was 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  79 

thirsty,  and  begged  for  milk,  which  he  had  frequently 
had  from  the  hand  of  'Bijah.  He  was  no  story-book 
dog  —  only  quite  a  commonplace  fellow,  who  hadn't 
the  faintest  idea  that  he  ought  to  have  arrived  here 
hours  ago,  and  won  fame  for  himself  by  showing  the 
way  to  Benny.  However,  you'll  see  presently  that 
he  wasn't  to  blame  for  that. 

'Bijah  stopped  milking  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  he,  "  Sandy,  I  vum  !  That  means  't 
Benny  ain't  fur  off.  You  don't  ketch  that  feller  to 
stir  a  peg  from  Benny  'f  he  c'n  help  himself." 

'Bijah  gave  Sandy  some  milk,  feeling  sure  that  if 
Benny  was  on  earth,  Sandy  would  go  straight  back 
again  to  where  he  had  left  him.  Benny  was  not  on 
earth,  but  Sandy,  having  finished  his  refreshment, 
without  even  waiting  to  return  thanks,  trotted  off 
across  lots  at  a  great  pace,  'Bijah  following  in  hot 
pursuit.  Away  they  splashed  through  the  marshy 
meadows;  jump,  they  went  over  the  stone  walls. 
"  Land  !  "  said  'Bijah.  "  Where  be  you  a-goin'  ?  "  as 
Sandy  leaped  across  a  ditch  into  the  great  Kingsbury 
orchard.  Mr.  Kingsbury  had  died  a  year  before. 
His  wife  had  closed  the  old  homestead  and  gone  to 


So  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

live  with  her  daughter,  and  the  farm  had  been  for 
sale  ever  since.  'Bijah  sprang  over  the  ditch  and 
came  sprawling  into  the  orchard. 

When  he  had  picked  himself  up,  Sandy  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  The  loneliness  of  the  deserted  farm 
and  the  soberness  of  approaching  evening  were  all 
about  him, 

"  Hello  ! "  he  shouted,  and  he  thought  he  heard  a 
response.  "  Hello  !  "  he  repeated,  and  he  was  sure 
of  a  faint,  faint  cry,  towards  which  he  bounded,  shout- 
ing, "Benny,  Benny!"  and  presently  directly  over 
his  head  he  heard  a  voice  which  seemed  to  come 
from  Heaven,  saying : 

"  'Bijah,  O  'Bijah,  here,  up  here  !  " 

'Bijah  looked  toward  the  sky,  and  behold,  dangling 
from  one  of  the  topmost  branches  of  a  famous  big 
sour  apple-tree,  a  pair  of  sturdy  boy's  legs !  And 
there  was  Sandy,  lying  on  the  ground  beneath  them. 

"  Jericho  !  "  said  'Bijah  ;  and  he  hadn't  much  more 
than  said  it  before  he  was  scrambling  up  the  tree  like 
a  great  ourang-outang.  With  some  difficulty  he  un- 
hooked Benny  and  brought  him  to  earth,  and  his 
great  warm  heart  swelled  with  tender  pity  as  he 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  81 

returned  home  with  the  poor  boy  in  his  arms ;  and 
his  shoulder  was  as  wet  with  Benny's  tears  when  he 
reached  there,  as  if  he  had  been  out  in  a  thunder 
storm. 

I  dare  say  you  will  partly  guess  the  story  of  Benny's 
misfortune,  but  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  not 
good  guessers,  I  shall  tell  you  that  he  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  cut  across  a  corner  of  the  Kingsbury  farm 
that  morning,  to  make  the  distance  to  his  grand- 
mother's shorter,  in  his  unwise  fashion,  never  con- 
sidering that  climbing  walls  and  fences,  paddling 
through  the  marshy  meadows  and  contriving  to  get 
over  the  ditch  would  more  than  overbalance  the  few 
steps  he  saved. 

When  he  reached  the  Kingsbury  orchard,  where 
all  the  apple  boughs  were  trained  in  horizontal 
lines,  with  a  view  to  making  them  bear  well,  his  head 
seemed  to  swim  with  suggestions  of  tight  ropes. 
Around  and  above  the  air  was  rilled  with  golden 
opportunities  as  near  to  tight  ropes  as  Paradise  is 
near  to  Heaven  itself.  These  precious  opportunities 
whispered  to  Benny,  the  charming  visions  beckoned, 
and  Benny  felt  that  if  it  cost  him  two  and  sixpence, 


82  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

he  must  have  a  walk  on  some  of  those  enchanting 
boughs. 

Everything  was  just  as  it  had  been  lett  when  Mr. 
Kingsbury  died.  Against  one  of  the  trees  stood  a 
ladder,  and  scattered  all  about  under  the  trees  were 
the  limbs  that  had  been  lopped  off,  under  his  direc- 
tion, the  very  day  when  he  fell  with  apoplexy.  Here 
and  there  they  had  been  gathered  up  in  bristling 
piles. 

Benny  ascended  into  one  after  another  of  these 
blissful  trees.  At  first  he  walked  on  the  lowest 
boughs,  but  gradually  went  higher  and  higher,  until 
he  promenaded  fearlessly  on  the  very  topmost.  He 
bowed,  he  kissed  his  hand,  he  turned  and  returned, 
he  was  happy  and  time  sped  swiftly  by.  He  was  so 
absorbed  in  his  delight,  that  he  heard,  as  one  who 
hears  not,  a  wagon  go  rattling  along  the  road,  and 
the  shouting,  whistling  and  singing  of  boys.  It 
was  past  noon  before  he  recalled  the  object  with 
which  he  had  left  home  that  morning.  He  sat  upon 
the  very  pinnacle  of  achievement  —  that  is  to  say,  he 
sat  upon  the  very  highest  point  in  the  orchard,  his 
head  up,  his  spirits  up,  with  such  a  decidedly  upward 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  83 

tendency  that  it  was  hard  for  him  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  descend  to  the  plane  of  common  life.  How- 
ever, he  thought  it  must  be  something  past  ten 
o'clock,  so  he  slipped  himself  off  his  pinnacle,  or  was 
in  the  act  of  doing  so,  when  he  missed  his  hold  and 
went  off  with  a  sudden  jerk.  Something  scraped  the 
whole  length  of  his  back,  and  seemed  to  hold  him  in 
a  relentless  grip.  It  was  the  stump  of  a  small  branch, 
which  had  caught  him  by  the  bottom  of  his  loose 
jacket,  and  slipped  up  under  it  quicker  than  a  wink, 
as  Benny  slid  down.  It  was  one  of  those  things  of 
which  we  say,  "  You  couldn't  do  it  again  to  save 
your  life." 

And  there  Benny,  exalted,  hung.  The  tips  of  his 
toes  just  touched  a  bough  below ;  with  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  and  thumb  he  could  reach  and  pick  at  the 
end  of  a  branch  above.  He  tried  to  throw  his  legs 
up  and  catch  on  some  salient  point.  He  struggled  to 
reach  his  elbows  up  and  pull  himself  back.  He  would 
have  unbuttoned  his  jacket,  and,  slipping  his  arms 
out,  dropped  to  the  ground,  but  it  looked  a  long  way, 
and  directly  below  him  was  a  pile  of  the  lopped-orl 
branches,  with  their  sharp  ends  sticking  up  towards 


84  BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

him  like  the  spikes  of  cruel  chevaux-de-frise,  and  he 
didn't  fancy  dropping  on  those.  He  shouted  for 
help,  but  there  was  no  one  to  hear  him  on  the  deserted 
farm,  and  the  few  farmers  who  rattled  by  in  their 
wagons  paid  no  heed  to  a  boy's  shout.  Boys  are 
always  shouting,  and  the  more  hideous  the  noises 
they  make  the  more  it  is  like  them.  Sandy,  who  had 
remained  asleep  in  the  grass  while  Benny  performed 
his  manoeuvres,  thought  no  more  of  this  one  than  he 
had  thought  of  the  others.  He  supposed  it  was  a  part 
of  the  fun  —  the  very  best  part  of  it  —  as  he  opened 
one  eye  and  saw  those  legs  dancing  in  air;  and 
Benny's  yells  were  the  things  to  be  expected  of 
Benny.  But  when  Benny  shouted,  "  Go,  Sandy,  go 
home  ! "  and  various  other  commands  to  Sandy,  hop- 
ing the  dog  might  go  and  bring  some  one  to  his 
rescue,  as  dogs  always  do  in  stories,  Sandy  sat  upon 
his  hind  legs  and  looked  at  Benny  in  amazement. 
These  were  remarks  that  had  never  been  made  to  him 
before,  and  he  couldn't  guess  for  his  life  what  they 
meant.  Never  had  he  been  sent  home.  He  had 
stuck  to  Benny  through  thick  and  thin,  during  all  his 
eventful  life,  and  he  meant  to  do  it  now.  So  there  he 


BENNY'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  85 

did  stick,  until  he  saw  by  the  shadows  that  it  was 
about  milking  time,  and  being  thirsty,  to  say  nothing 
of  hungry,  and  observing  that  Benny  was  still  engaged 
in  dancing  and  tilting  on  the  tips  of  his  toes,  Sandy 
excused  himself,  went  after  his  milk,  and  brought 
back  deliverance  to  Benny,  as  we  have  seen. 

Poor,  poor  Benny  !  The  joy  of  his  return  called 
out  more  tears  than  smiles.  Worn  and  faint  and 
nervous,  he  was  put  to  bed  at  grandma  Potter's,  and 
it  was  many  days  before  he  was  the  same  old  Benny 
Briggs  again.  In  one  respect  he  was  never  quite  the 
same.  His  views  in  respect  to  tight  ropes  had  met 
with  a  radical  change. 

P.  S.  If  any  of  you  boys  should  say  as  Charlie 
Potter  did,  "  Pooh !  if  Pd  been  Benny  Briggs  7 
could  have  got  down  out  of  that  tree,"  I'll  say  to 
you  as  Benny  said  to  him  : 

"  Humph  !     I'd  like  to  see  you  try  it !  " 


HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS 
KILLED  A  BEAR. 

IT  was  an  unpleasant  day.  The  gray  clouds 
looked  cold  and  dark,  and  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing a  gale  as  the  stage  left  the  little  village  of 
Lowton  on  its  daily  trip  to  the  Summit.  The 
weather  prophets  said  it  was  the  equinoctial, 
although  it  was  ten  days  too  early  if  the  almanac 
was  right ;  and  every  one  predicted  a  storm,  a 
northeaster  that  would  set  all  the  streams  boiling, 
and  probably  carry  away  all  the  bridges  between 
Lowton  and  the  Summit. 

But  little  for  northeasters  cared  Leon  and  Sam 
Bearer,  as  they  settled  themselves  cosily  inside. 
They  each  carried  a  shot-gun,  and  under  the  care  of 
their  elder  brother,  Herbert,  they  were  going  on  a 
two  weeks'  hunt  among  the  well  stocked  forests  on 
the  mountains  back  of  the  Summit. 
86 


HOW   TWO    SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A    BEAR.       87 

At  noon  they  stopped  at  the  Half-Way  House, 
a  little  hotel  built  just  at  the  rise  of  the  mountain, 
where  they  were  served  with  fresh  venison  in  a 
dining-room  hung  with  great  antlers  from  the  deer 
killed  by  the  landlord,  and  his  son,  who  was  only 
fourteen  years  old  — no  older  than  Sam.  The  boys 
became  very  much  excited  listening  to  their  hunt- 
ing stories  ;  and  after  dinner  nothing  but  Herbert's 
decided  command  prevented  their  loading  the  guns 
to  be  ready  for  any  game  they  might  see  on  the 
road.  The  landlord  and  the  driver  said  that  they 
never  saw  any  deer  driving  along  the  road  ;  but 
the  boys  thought  it  might  be  that  they  would,  and 
after  they  started  a  strict  watch  was  kept,  which 
resulted  in  seeing  forty-one  squirrels  but  nothing 
larger. 

They  had  not  driven  many  miles  up  the  mountain 
before  it  cleared  off,  and  the  sun  came  out.  The 
forest  road,  lined  with  ferns  and  banks  of  moss, 
was  very  picturesque,  and  Leon  and  Sam  enjoyed 
the  ride  as  only  happy  schoolboys  can,  in  the 
pleasantest  spot  that  boys  can  be  —  a  forest  peo- 
pled with  deer  and  squirrels.  And  when  they 


S8       HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A   BEAR. 

reached  the  Summit  House  they  were  in  as  good 
spirits  as  jolly  boys  could  be  who  expected  a  glo- 
rious chase  the  next  day. 

The  hotel  was  a  large,  pleasant  one,  and  on 
every  side  were  the  trophies  of  game  that  so  delight 
a  boy's  heart.  The  office  and  dining-room  were 
hung  with  antlers,  and  the  hat  rack  in  the  hall  was 
made  from  them.  Then  there  was  a  couch  and 
some  seats  covered  with  bear  skins  and  supported 
by  great  branching  antlers  with  so  many  prongs 
that  Leon  tired  of  counting  them,  although  he 
knew  each  one  represented  a  year,  and  that  he 
could  compute  the  deer's  age  by  them.  In  the 
sitting-room  there  were  a  stuffed  deer,  a  fox,  a  num- 
ber of  similar  animals,  a  partridge,  some  pigeons 
and  many  small  birds  ;  and  in  the  office  were  two 
large  panthers  that  looked  very  fierce  and  natural, 
their  glass  eyes  glaring  as  if  watching  a  victim, 
their  feet  placed  as  if  ready  for  a  leap.  But  the 
boys  enjoyed  most  the  deer  in  the  large  park  back 
of  the  hotel.  There  were  four  old  deer  and  two 
pretty  young  fawns  with  glossy,  spotted  coats,  that 
Sam  and  Leon  thought  were  the  most  beautiful 


HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A    BE^R.       89 

animals  they  had  ever  seen,  as  they  ran  and  played 
together  like  lambs,  jumping  and  capering  with  a 
perfect  grace  that  only  deer  possess. 

After  a  nice  venison  supper  the  boys  went  to 
bed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  both  were  dreaming  of 
deer,  and  bears,  panthers  and  hounds,  and  all  the 
excitements  of  the  chase  among  the  game-covered 
mountains. 

Early  in  the  morning,  and  long  before  Herbert 
was  up,  Sam  and  Leon  were  out  again  watching 
the  deer  in  the  park,  and  examining  again  the  ter- 
rible panthers  whose  changeless  eyes  looked  just 
as  fierce  as  the  night  before.  Their  guns  were 
loaded,  and  when  they  had  eaten  breakfast  and 
the  men  were  ready  to  start,  the  boys  were  off 
ahead  ready  for  the  expected  game.  All  the  way 
up  the  mountain  path  to  the  runways  they  kept  the 
lead,  occasionally  stopping  to  rest  in  the  shade  of 
some  great  pine  where  chattering  squirrels  were 
quarrelling  over  their  breakfast.  Often,  too,  they 
would  leave  the  path  and  plunge  off  in  search  of 
"  track,"  which  they  failed  to  find,  so  that  by  the 
time  the  runways  were  reached  they  were  well  tired. 


90       HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A   BEAR. 

The  landlord  stationed  Sam  and  Leon  on  the 
lower  runway,  while  he  and  Herbert  went  to  those 
higher  up  the  mountain.  There  was  a  long  time 
to  wait  before  any  game  could  be  expected,  as  the 
man  who  was  to  start  the  hounds  had  a  good  dis- 
tance to  make  before  sending  them  off,  and  he 
was  only  a  half-hour  ahead  of  the  watchers. 

Leon  laid  down  to  rest  after  making  sure  that 
his  gun  was  in  good  order ;  but  Sam  wandered 
around,  looking  for  squirrels  and  "  signs  of  game," 
until  suddenly  he  heard,  away  back  on  the  moun- 
tain, the  bay  of  a  hound.  This  was  a  signal  that 
the  chase  had  begun,  and  he  hurried  back  to  the 
watching-place  to  be  ready  for  the  deer,  should  the 
deer  come.  For  nearly  an  hour  the  boys  stood 
with  guns  ready,  every  minute  hoping  to  see  a 
deer.  A  squirrel  running  through  the  brush  would 
bring  their  guns  to  their  faces,  and  at  the  slightest 
rustle  of  the  bushes  they  would  start  and  listen. 
Meanwhile  the  hounds  were  surely  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  their  excited  barking  proclaiming  that 
they  were  close  upon  the  game  ;  and  at  last  Sam 
was  sure  they  were  down  on  the  lower  runway  and, 


HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A   BEAR.       91 

turning  to  Leon  in  great  excitement,  he  said,  "  Let's 
keep  cool  and  we  can  kill  this  deer !  Then  won't 
Herb  be  sorry  he  went  further  up  ?  "  Both  boys 
felt  sure  there  must  be  a  deer  coming,  although 
they  had  been  told  that  the  hounds  often  came  in 
without  anything. 

At  last  they  could  hear  the  brush  crackling  — 
yes,  the  hounds  were  surely  clown  on  their  runway  ; 
and  in  a  minute  the  dogs  and  game  did  come  in 
sight  together.  But  what  a  surprised  pair  of  hunts- 
men they  were  when  they  saw  what  the  game  was  ! 
Leon  was  frightened,  while  even  Sam  felt  a  little 
uneasy.  The  hounds  had  not  started  a  deer  at  all. 
Instead  they  were  pursuing  an  old  bear,  and  two 
young  cubs  about  the  size  of  a  large  dog.  The 
old  bear  was  very  large  and  fierce,  and  whenever 
the  hounds  came  up  with  the  cubs,  that  could  not 
run  very  fast,  she  would  turn  around  and  fight  un- 
til the  cubs  ran  on  a  few  rods  and  then  she  would 
run  again. 

Just  as  the  bear  and  cubs  reached  the  watching 
place  there  was  a  fight,  and  the  great  creature 
caught  one  of  the  hounds  and  hugged  him  in  her 


93       HOW   TWO   SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A   BEAR. 

arms  till  he  was  breathless,  all  the  time  sitting  up 
on  her  hind  legs  and  looking  as  tall  as  a  man. 
While  she  was  in  this  position  Sam  took  aim  at 
her  head  and  fired,  and  a  moment  later  Leon  fired 
too.  Then  the  bear  started  to  run,  and  they  both 
fired  the  other  barrel  of  their  shot-guns,  though  with- 
out taking  much  aim,  but  a  moment  after  they  saw 
her  lying  on  the  ground,  surrounded  by  the  pack. 

By  this  time  Herbert  and  the  landlord  had  come 
down  in  hot  haste  to  see  what  the  shooting  was 
for,  and  in  great  surprise  they  gathered  around  the 
huge  creature  which  the  boys  had  secured.  Leon 
and  Sam  had  really  killed  a  bear,  a  genuine  black 
bear,  a  large  one  too  — the  landlord  said  the  larg- 
est he  had  seen  that  year ;  and  there  were  never 
two  prouder  fellows  than  these  two  schoolboys,  as 
they  surveyed  their  noble  game. 

But  this  was  not  all.  The  hounds  were  sent 
after  the  cubs,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were 
caught  alive.  They  were  taken  to  the  hotel  and 
caged.  Very  quiet  animals  they  were  ;  in  a  few 
days  they  would  eat  from  the  boys'  hands,  as  tame 
as  the  fawns  in  the  park,  never  trying  to  bite  or 


HOW   TWO    SCHOOLBOYS    KILLED   A   BEAR.        93 

showing  any  crossness.  With  these  pets  and  with 
their  fine  bear  skin  to  show,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
boys  thought  there  was  never  a  pleasanter  place 
than  the  hotel  in  the  mountains;  and  it  is  not  at 
all  strange  that  they  hated  to  leave  it  when  their 
two  weeks  were  up.  But  they  had  a  new,  strong 
cage  made  for  the  baby  bears,  and  took  them  home 
to  keep  in  the  little  yard  near  the  barn,  where 
every  boy,  and  nearly  every  man  in  town  came  to 
see  them,  and  to  hear  the  story  of  their  capture, 
and  take  the  dimensions  of  the  handsome  black 
bear  skin.  At  school  certainly  nothing  else  was 
talked  of  that  term,  and  I  fear  the  boys  really  be- 
lieved they  were  the  best  hunters  in  the  State. 
How  long  their  mamma  will  allow  them  to  keep 
their  pets  they  do  not  know,  but  they  hope  it  will 
be  as  long  as  the  two  bears  live  and  behave. 


PETE'S    PRINTING   PRESS. 

WHAT  do  you  want  for  Christmas  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Downs,  in  a  kindly  manner. 

"  I  don't  know,  mother,"  replied  Pete  slowly. 
"  Last  year  it  was  a  paint-box,  bicycle,  foils,  and  you 
said  I  could  use  Dick's  foils  —  and  that  you  couldn't 
afford  bicycles  after  the  new  carpet,  so  it  got  down 
to  a  paint-box  and  that  wasn't  much  of  a  Christmas." 

"  That's  the  comfort  in  regularly  having  Christ- 
mases  ;  in  time  you  get  what  you  want,"  answered 
his  mother. 

"  That  isn't  always  so.  I  think  it  depends  on 
what  a  fellow  wants  j  and  I've  made  a  strike  this 
year.  I'm  not  going  to  say  thank  you  for  what  I 
don't  want ;  only  I  don't  exactly  know  what  I  do 
want.  It  must  be  either  —  either  —  a  —  bicycle 
—  or  a  printing  press  —  or  Indian  clubs  ;  and  if  it 
is  a  bicycle,  it  must  be  the  real  kind  —  wooden  ones 
94 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  ^ 

are  not  allowed  in  processions ;  and  if  it  is  clubs,  I 
shall  knock  my  head  off ;  so  it  better  be  a  printing 
press.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  you  this 
year,  does  it,  as  we  have  not  got  to  buy  a  new  carpet  ? 
I  have  decided  ;  it  shall  be  a  printing  press,  and  I 
shall  get  orders  enough  to  pay  for  new  curtains." 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  I  don't  know  about  the  orders, 
and  I  do  know  printing  presses  cost,  and  that  Indian 
clubs  are  cheap." 

"  Oh  !  you  can't  put  me  off  till  another  Christ- 
mas ;  it  is  like  Alice  in  Wonderland  having  jam 
to-morrow.  And  when  to-morrow  comes,  it  isn't 
to-morrow.  I  am  going  to  have  it,  and  you  can  all 
club  together  and  buy  it  instead  of  giving  me  sep- 
arately, sleeve  buttons  and  scarf  pins  and  cologne 
and  paper  and  pocket  scissors.  A  fellow  wants  real 
things  that  he  can  do  something  with.  Printing 
press,  now,  you  remember."  And  off  rushed  Pete 
as  Dick  gave  a  low  war-whoop,  the  signal  for  an 
incursion  of  boys  into  the  shed. 

This  shed  was  filled  with  relics  of  former  joys, 
with  the  debris  of  unsuccessful  inventions,  with 
tool-boxes  whose  tools  were  missing,  with  oil  cans 


96  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

without  oil,  with  boards  full  of  nails,  with  the  wheels 
of  broken  carts,  and  with  strings,  ropes  and  clothes 
lines  of  various  lengths ;  yet  to  a  new-comer  it  was 
always  an  El  Dorado  of  enjoyment.  Into  this  now 
sprang,  tumbled,  the  cronies,  Dick,  Jack,  Phil  and 
Shel,  which  latter  name  was  a  contraction  for  Gen- 
eral Sheridan. 

"  I  say,"  exclaimed  Phil,  "  I  am  getting  tired  of 
your  shed  ;  haven't  had  an  idea  in  it  for  months  — 
same  old  contrivances  —  get  up  something  new." 

"  You  just  wait,"  said  Pete,  the  proprietor. 

"O  come  along,  boys,  if  it  is  'wait,'  don't  let  us 
wait  here,"  said  Shel,  and  off  they  started  on  a  raid 
for  fun.  Pete  returned  from  the  excursion  to  dream 
all  night  of  what  might  and  of  what  might  not  be. 
His  wishes  became  so  thoroughly  mixed  that  he 
fancied  he  had  told  his  mother  he  wanted  nothing, 
not  even  Christmas  itself ;  but  the  horror  of  such  a 
mistake  effectually  roused  him. 

The  next  morning  there  was  no  indication  of 
forthcoming  glories,  except  that  they  had  less  than 
usual  for  breakfast ;  a  kind  of  atonement  to  which 
Mrs.  Downs  sometimes  treated  her  family.  Pete 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  97 

sighed.  The  greetings  for  a  merry  Christmas  were 
of  doubtful  value  to  him.  He  was  of  a  foreboding 
nature  and  experience  had  taught  him  to  be  pre- 
pared for  disappointment  in  the  matter  of  presents. 
He  went  to  church  and  noticed  carefully  the  style 
of  type  in  the  hymn  books ;  he  came  home  and  took 
down  all  his  books  from  their  shelves  for  the  same 
purpose  of  investigation.  Even  dinner  itself  failed 
to  bring  forgetf ulness ;  for  he  thought,  if  he  could 
print  bills-of-fare  for  such  lengthy  repasts  he  might 
make  money ;  though  he  felt  he  could  never  spell 
the  queer  French  names  of  dishes.  At  last  the  meal 
was  ended,  and  the  big  parlor  doors  were  thrown 
open,  displaying  horizontal  rows  of  evergreen,  with 
various  knick-knacks  fastened  to  these  mysterious 
lines,  which  on  inspection  proved  to  be  the  bars  of  an 
old-fashioned  clotheshorse.  It  made  one  think  of 
sums  in  addition  put  down  in  agreeable  shapes ;  one 
green  line  of  gifts  and  then  another  and  another, 
which  suddenly  changed  into  a  sum  in  long  division. 
Brown-looking  packages  lay  about  the  feet  of  the 
clotheshorse,  and  on  them  Pete  fastened  his  eyes, 
for  printing  presses  cannot  hang. 


98  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

His  name  was  called  several  times  and  he  received 
the  very  things  he  did  not  want ;  sleeve  buttons, 
scarf  pins,  cologne,  and  paper.  He  says,  "thank 
you,"  each  time  more  faintly,  whilst  his  mother's 
eyes  twinkle.  At  last  Santa  Glaus  tried  to  lift  a 
big  bundle ;  he  puffed  and  panted  and  called  Pete  to 
help  him.  Pete  comes  slowly  forward,  bends  down 
to  help,  felt  something  cold  and  hard  beneath  the 
wrapper,  fumbled  over  it,  clasped  it  round,  excitedly 
tried  to  lift  it,  whispered  awestruck,  "  It  is,  it  is  a 
self-inker ; "  bends  further  down,  lifted  it  up  awk- 
wardly, and  dropped  it  on  his  little  slippered  foot, 
with  a  big  bang  and  a  painful,  "  oh ! "  The  scene 
was  too  funny  for  sympathy  and  the  general  laugh 
increased  the  ache  in  the  right-hand  corner  of  the 
big  toe  on  the  left  foot.  Pete  limped  out  of  the 
room  and  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  universal 
excitement ;  but  when  all  were  busy  with  their  ice 
cream,  he  crept  back  to  his  beloved  bundle,  un- 
wrapped it,  and  lying  flat  down  on  his  stomach 
hugged  himself  to  it,  and  gazed  at  it  again.  It  was 
growing  late.  He  knew  that  as  soon  as  the  guests 
were  gone  he  must  do  his  share  in  putting  things 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  99 

to  rights,  restoring  furniture  to  its  place,  and  worse 
than  all,  in  smoothing  out  the  wrapping  paper  and 
tying  it  up  in  little  bundles,  and  in  unravelling  all 
the  knotted  strings  ;  for  his  mother  was  accustomed 
to  take  off  the  edge  of  too  great  Christmas  enjoy- 
ment, by  enforcement  of  this  economical  rule.  That 
night  he  dreamed  of  Franklin,  of  editors,  of  type 
setting,  and  of  sensible  mothers,  who  knew  what 
fellows  want. 

The  next  morning  he  woke  with  a  sense  of  much 
to  do,  and  soon  began  his  future  career  by  sorting 
the  type.  This  was  a  long  job,  for  he  had  several 
kinds;  capitals  and  small  letters,  heavy  face  and 
light  face  type,  besides  commas,  hyphens  and 
periods,  and  somehow  everything  was  mixed  up. 
Now  and  then  he  stopped  to  admire  his  new  gift 
and  his  own  energy,  or  to  call  some  one  to  help  him. 

At  last  his  task  was  done.  Pete  was  a  methodi- 
cal boy  and  always  finished  one  job  before  he  began 
another.  "Now,"  said  he,  "what  shall  I  do  first? 
set  the  type  or  ink  the  tablet  ?  I'll  ink  the  tablet 
and  then  print  my  name,  it  is  so  short." 

He  began  the  inking  process  just  as  Dick  an- 


ioo  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

nounced  himself  by  his  war-whoop,  and  called  out, 
"  At  it,  are  you !  Got  any  orders  !  Shel  has  a  big 
job  —  whole  lots  of  placards  from  his  father,  flam- 
ing ones  to  print,  takes  all  kinds  of  type ;  makes 
money  on  it;  so  busy  he  can't  speak  to  a  fellow, 
so  I  came  along  here,  for  I'm  one  of  the  kind  don't 
believe  in  orders  for  boys.  Learn  by  looking  on, 
is  my  way — have  all  of  the  fun  and  —  none  of  the 
ink  guess  I'll  say,  seeing  how  your  hands  are. 
That  isn't  the  way — your  mother  will  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  that." 

"You  keep  still  and  let  me  alone,"  answered 
Pete.  "  I'll  come  out  all  right.  I  am  going  to  set 
the  type  for  Pete  Downs,  Centreville,  Illinois,  U. 
S.,"  and  he  carefully  began  to  insert  the  letters  on 
the  left  hand  of  the  chase.  He  placed  the  chase 
in  the  body  of  the  press,  put  some  paper  on  the 
pressure  and  began  to  work  the  handle  up  and 
down  till  the  type  was  well  inked ;  he  next  marked 
out  the  size  of  his  card  on  the  pressure,  inserted 
his  gauge  pins,  placed  his  card  upon  them,  took 
hold  of  the  handle  and  pushed  it  up  and  down,  thus 
bringing  the  card  on  the  pressure  against  the  inked 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  101 

type  ;  he  pushed  with  all  his  might  and  lifted  up  his 
work  with  a  conqueror's  air.  Dick,  who  had  been 
maliciously  watching,  burst  into  peals  of  laughter. 
The  name  read  thus  : 

PETEDOWN  , 


"You've  forgotten  the  quads,"  said  Dick,  "and 
you  haven't  enough  ink.  You  must  put  on  specta- 
cles to  read  it." 

"  That's  nothing  "  replied  Pete,  growing  red  as  he 
began  to  separate  the  words  and  rub  more  ink  on 
the  tablet.  Again  he  pressed  down  the  handle, 
lifted  it  up  and  gazed  again.  This  time  the  name 
ran: 

PETEDOW   7 

*.  TIKI  * 


The  rest  was  so  smutchy  that  not  a  letter  was 
legible. 

"  Better  go  into  partnership,"  said  Dick  ;  "  you 
are  not  smart  enough  for  an  apprentice,  but  on 
account  of  your  capital  you  might  be  worth  some- 
thing as  a  partner." 


102  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

Pete  cleaned  the  tablet  with  half  the  turpentine 
and  benzine  in  the  bottle  and  began  afresh.  This 
time  came  out  in  watery  lines : 

PETE  DOWNS 
centreville, 

Illinois 
U.  S. 

"Why,  what's  the  mattes  now?" 

"  Forgotten  enough  leads  and  a  capital,"  replied 
Dick.  "  What  is  the  use  in*trying  alone  ;  go  in  with 
some  boy  who  knows,  and  you'll  get  on." 

"  Perhaps.     But  I'll  clear  up  first." 

His  mother  had  provided  him  with  overalls  for 
just  such  occasions  ;  but  Pete  was  confident  that 
printing  was  neater  work  than  carpentering  and 
had  avoided  thinking  of  them.  The  ink  was  so  im- 
bedded in  one  corner  of  the  tablet  and  so  scanty  in 
another,  that  he  tried  to  even  the  amount,  and  then 
wash  off  the  whole.  Soon  his  finger-tips  were  coal 
black  and  sticky ;  to  remove  this  difficulty,  he  put 
finger  by  finger  into  the  turpentine,  rendering  that 
muddy  and  spreading  five  distinct  streaks  on  the 
back  of  his  right  hand.  Then  he  poured  benzine 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  103 

into  the  left  hand  to  rub  on  the  back  of  the  right 
hand.  This  operation  sent  ink  and  benzine  up  his 
coat-sleeve,  and  all  ten  fingers  became  so  useless 
that  in  order  to  use  them  more  freely  he  rubbed  off 
their  contents  on  his — jacket.  Seeing  what  he  had 
done,  his  increasing  fears  brought  tears ;  to  check 
which,  he  stuck  his  fingers  into  his  eyes ;  which 
hurting,  sent  more  tears  mingling  with  ink  down 
his  cheeks,  just  at  the  moment  that  his  mother 
appeared  and  that  Dick's  instinct  led  him  to  dis- 
appear out  of  the  window  or  door,  he  never  knew 
which. 

"  My  son,  for  shame ! "  said  she  ;  "  how  could  you 
forget  the  overalls  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know  —  wish  I  hadn't.  I  am  going 
to  take  a  partner  and  then  it  won't  happen  again." 

He  cried,  and  was  so  funny-looking  that  there  was 
nothing  for  his  mother  to  do  but  to  laugh  and  advise 
speedy  partnership. 

"  What  boy  would  you  have,"  asked  he.  "  Dick 
has  been  here  tormenting  me,  I  don't  want  him.  I 
might  try  Shel ;  it  need  not  be  for  life,  you  know. 
He  had  a  press  last  year  and  has  got  used  to  it." 


104  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

"  Very  well,"  answered  his  mother.  "  I  expected 
as  much.  Change  your  suit,  go  ask  him,  and  tell 
him  I  approve  because  his  mother  makes  him  wear 
overalls." 

Pete  had  not  anticipated  such  a  speedy  ending  of 
his  troubles,  and  hastened  away  to  do  his  mother's 
bidding.  But  whilst  dressing,  he  reflected  that 
Shel  knew  too  much  and  would  snub  him,  and  that 
Clarence  was  the  kind  of  boy  who  could  get  jobs 
easily.  So  he  went  to  Clarence's  and  proposed 
partnership. 

"What  terms?"  demanded  Clarence  in  a  busi- 
ness-like manner,  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  I'm  pretty 
particular  about  the  contract.  Are  you  a  green- 
horn ?  That's  got  to  be  taken  into  account." 

"  Well,  yes,  suppose  I  am  now ;  but  I  need  not 
be  long  if  you  keep  your  bargain,  besides  my  press 
is  new  and  that  counts  for  me." 

"Well,  yes,  it  does.    Self-inker?  lots  of  type?" 

"  Well,  not  so  very  much ;  self-inker  though.  Or 
come,  you  just  go  in  and  try  it  for  a  month  and 
we'll  make  terms  afterwards." 

"  Pretty  dangerous  plan  ;  but  I'll  try  it,  seeing  it 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  105 

is  a  new  press.  I'll  come  to  your  house  right  after 
dinner ;  and  we  have  dinner  right  after  breakfast, 
so  the  kitchen  work  can  be  all  done  up.  One  gets 
hungry  between  dinner  and  supper;  and  it's  always 
a  cold  supper,  so  it  needn't  be  any  work." 

"  Agreed,"  saicl  Pete.  "  I  know  those  tricks  on 
meals,  too." 

The  boys  parted  till  half-past  twelve,  when  Clar- 
ence appeared  and  set  to  work  in  a  vigorous 
manner  to  properly  clean  and  ink  the  tablet.  Pete, 
with  overalls  on,  watched  every  motion.  His  name 
was  printed  and  came  out  clear,  beautiful : 

PETE  DOWNS 

CENTREVILLE,  ILLINOIS 
U.  S. 

Quads,  leads,  capitals,  spelling  all  right.  Pete  felt 
as  if  he  had  done  it  himself. 

"  Now  you  try,"  said  Clarence ;  and  success  again 
came  in  a  dozen  cards.  Then  his  name  became  an 
old  story. 

"I'll  go  and  ask  the  cook,"  declared  Pete,  "if 
she  don't  want  her  name  printed,"  and  off  he  ran. 


io6  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

"  Certainly"  was  her  obliging  answer ;  she  added 
slowly,  "  Only  I  haven't  a  name  good  enough  to 
print ;  you  call  me  '  Hannah  ! '  but  if  you  put  that 
on  a  card  it  looks  common  ;  and  if  you  say  '  Ora,' 
no  one  will  know  it  is  me;  and  if  you  only  put 
my  last  name,  they'll  think  the  whole  family  has 
called.  You  better  take  the  nurse's  name, '  Mehita- 
ble  Jones,'  you  can't  get  round  that." 

Hardly  waiting  till  she  had  finished,  Pete  went 
to  Mehitable,  who  kindly  consented  to  believe  that 
she  needed  a  dozen  cards,  and  to  write  down  her 
name  that  it  might  be  printed  correctly.  This 
looked  like  business.  The  cards  were  quickly 
printed,  and  delivered,  and  the  package  was 
marked  on  the  wrapper  "  c.  o.  D." 

"  That  is  not  my  name,"  exclaimed  Mehitable. 

"  Of  course,  that  isn't  your  name,"  explained  the 
boys ;  "  cards  are  inside.  That  means  you  must  pay 
us  right  off,  just  what  you  please ;  we  didn't  say 
anything  about  it  first,  because  we  trusted  you  — 
but  we  can't  afford  to  work  for  nothing." 

"Well,"  said  Mehitable,  "here  is  five  cents." 

Pete's  first  money  earned  by  honest  hard  labor ; 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  107 

two  and  a  half  cents  apiece.  "  That's  an  unfortu- 
nate price  for  us,"  said  Clarence,  "  though  it  be 
convenient  for  the  buyer.  Let's  keep  all  uneven 
sums  as  capital  towards  other  type,  and  all  even 
sums  we'll  divide." 

This  was  rather  a  shock  at  first  to  Pete ;  but  with 
a  partner  who  was  such  a  superior  business  man  he 
would  not  dispute. 

"The  first  great  trouble,"  stated  Clarence,  "is  to 
get  orders ;  the  second,  to  execute  them.  You  be 
the  travelling  agent  and  I'll  be  the  office  man." 

"  Now,"  said  Pete,  "  I  won't.  I  want  to  print  as 
well  as  you.  I'll  be  travelling  agent  in  your  family, 
and  you  in  mine,  and  then  we'll  get  more  out  of 
each." 

"  That's  an  idea,"  replied  Clarence  ;  and  the  part- 
nership, which  to  judge  by  the  angry  looks  of  the 
past  second  seemed  on  the  point  of  dissolution, 
still  remained  unbroken. 

That  afternoon's  success  was  marked,  and  after- 
wards when  business  called  Clarence  away  (for  if 
the  truth  must  be  told),  he  was  partner  in  two  other 
firms  on  strict  terms  of  secrecy,  Pete  did  not  pros- 


icS  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

per.  It  was  always  too  much  or  too  little  ink; 
quads  were  not  even  and  a  sufficient  number  of  leads 
were  seldom  inserted.  He  often  set  the  type  the 
wrong  way  so  that  it  printed  backwards,  and  worse 
than  all  he  did  not  know  how  to  spell ;  and  as  he 
before  had  had  occasion  to  accuse  his  mother  of 
moral  reasons  for  her  gifts,  he  now  declared  that 
she  had  only  given  him  the  press,  to  teach  him  how 
to  spell.  One  day  she  particularly  distressed  both 
his  memory  and  conscience  by  wishing  him  to  print 
for  the  nursery  the  motto,  "  Fidelity  is  a  virtue ; " 
and  it  came  out, 

"  FlDDILITY  IS  A  VIRTU." 

Notwithstanding  this,  the  firm  had  made  one  dol- 
lar ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  next  two  months  Pete 
had  acquired  enough  skill  to  feel  himself  an  expert. 

A  change  had  also  come  over  Clarence ;  his  spirit 
was  too  aspiring  to  be  bound  by  rules  of  constant 
neatness,  and  he  grew  jealous  of  Pete's  increasing 
ability.  So  he  proposed  a  partnership  on  new 
terms ;  namely,  that  the  cash  on  hand  should  be 
devoted  to  the  purchase  of  some  new  fonts,  and 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 


109 


that  afterwards  the  earnings  should  be  divided ;  but 
that  as  he  would  always  ink  the  tablet,  and  as  the 
workshop  of  the  firm  had  been  transferred  to  his 
shed,  he  should  have  two  thirds  of  the  profits. 
Pete  objected,  and  insisted  that  until  the  business 
was  on  a  better  foundation,  all  the  profits  should  be 
turned  in  for  the  improvement  of  their  stock  in 
trade. 

"  No,"  said  Clarence,  "  I  can't  print  all  day  and 
every  day  and  not  feel  any  cents  in  my  pocket.  I 
want  peanuts  and  candy  and  I  want  to  give  the 
boys  a  treat,  too,  now  and  then.  That's  what  I  am 
going  to  print  for,  after  we  have  got  these  new 
fonts." 

"  Well,  you  can  do  as  you  please,  I  sha'n't  try 
such  things.  I  shall  keep  my  money  for  type  and 
cards.  We  needn't  quarrel  yet  till  we  have  more 
money." 

Clarence  did  not  feel  easy.  Pete  had  shown  more 
energy,  patience  and  neatness  than  he  thought  was 
right  under  the  circumstances,  though  what  the  cir- 
cumstances were,  he  confessed  to  himself  he  did 
not  know ;  and  he  summed  up  the  whole  offence, 


no  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

when  he  was  speaking  of  the  affairs  of  the  concern 
to  other  boys,  by  saying,  "  O,  Pete's  getting  too 
proud." 

After  the  new  type  was  bought,  the  following 
order  was  received  for  twenty-five  postal  card 

notices : 

THE 

Q.  F.  U. 

will  hold  its  tenth  peripatetic  occasion  at  42 
degrees  25  seconds  North  Latitude  65  degrees  15 
minutes  20  seconds  West  Longitude  on  the  roth 
instant. 

This  was  a  very  important  order,  requiring  great 
care,  received  from  an  older  boy,  a  member  of  a 
secret  society.  Most  obscure  it  seemed  to  the  firm. 
Clarence  insisted  on  printing  it  in  plain  English 
and  on  setting  up  in  type :  "  A  Walking  match  will 
take  place,  etc.  etc."  Pete  thought  they  had  no  right 
to  argue  about  the  matter,  simply  to  do  what  was 
ordered. 

"  I  should  not  mind  it  so  much  if  they  would  not 
have  such  long  words ;  and  we  shall  have  to  buy 
special  marks  for  degrees,  minutes,  and  seconds  — 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  in 

charge  extra  on  that.  But  peripatetic — I  didn't 
agree  to  print  such  nonsense,"  said  Clarence.  "If  we 
are  going  to  do  it  I  am  going  to  be  quick  about  it  and 
set  it  all  up  except  the  marks  and  see  how  it  looks." 

He  was  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  set  the  type 
wrong  three  times.  At  last  "  peripatetic  "  was  right, 
but  no  space  was  left  for  the  right  number  of  leads. 
Rejecting  Pete's  help,  he  lifted  a  row  of  type  to 
make  room,  did  not  hold  it  tight  enough,  the  middle 
sank  down,  fell  out  and  the  line  went  to  pieces. 

"  I  say  now,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  didn't  do  that  — 
you  did  it  —  it  did  itself.  I  never  made  *  a  pie  '  in 
all  my  life,  and  see  here,  I  won't  have  it  said  that 
I  made  one  now." 

"  I  have  made  them  lots  of  times,"  calmly  said 
Pete. 

"  You !  O  yes !  I  dare  say  you  have.  But  I 
never  did,  and  that's  why  the  other  boys  want  me 
in  their  business." 

"What  business?  I  would  not  get  so  excited 
just  because  of  this  pie." 

"  You  would  if  your  reputation  depended  on  it." 

"  Why,  I  won't  tell." 


ii2  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

"  But  the  other  firms  will  have  to  know  it ;  our 
honor  is  pledged  to  tell  whenever  such  a  thing 
happens  to  any  one  of  us." 

"  Are  you  in  other  business  ?  Shel  said  you  were, 
when  he  wanted  us  to  take  him  in,  and  I  said  you 
were  not.  That's  the  end  of  it.  If  you  are  any  one's 
else  partner,  you  can't  be  mine,  pie  or  no  pie." 

"  Very  well.  Just  as  you  please,  you  can  take 
Shel.  You  always  put  on  too  much  ink  and  that 
wastes  capital." 

"Well,  then,  you  put  on  too  little  ink,  and  blurred 
work  don't  bring  orders.  I  am  done  with  you." 

"And  I  with  you." 

"  I  shall  bring  up  my  cart  to-morrow  and  take  my 
things  away." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  those  new 
fonts  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  you  would  have  them  all  than  be 
partner  with  a  boy  who  invests  in  bogus  firms." 

"  Bogus  or  not,  I  never  mix  accounts.  You  can 
have  the  first  half  and  I  the  second ;  only  as  '  x ' 
and  'z'  don't  count  I  ought  to  have  two  more 
letters  in  my  half  than  you  in  yours." 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  113 

"  I  should  call  that  mixing  halves,  if  you  don't 
call  it  mixing  accounts,"  said  Pete,  who  was  so  hurt 
by  this  unexpected  closeness  that  he  instantly  went 
off  to  get  his  cart.  Meeting  Shel  on  the  way,  he 
retailed  his  wrongs  and  met  with  such  hearty  sym- 
pathy that  he  formed  a  copartnership  with  him  on 
the  spot.  Shel  advised  him  to  wait  till  to-morrow 
before  taking  action  and  give  Clarence  time  to  think 
over  the  matter  and  see  if  it  would  not  be  better 
for  his  pecuniary  interests  to  remain  a  silent  partner. 

"You  know,"  urged  he,  "  that  he  has  got  a  good 
deal  of  type,  and  though  he  works  too  quickly  to 
admit  him  as  active  partner,  he  might  do  very  well 
as  a  retired  one,  and  thus  keep  the  peace.  Then 
it  is  always  a  good  plan  to  have  three  partners ; 
one  of  them,  or  all  together  —  they  somehow  act  as 
judge.  I  must  be  off  now."  And  the  boys  sep- 
arated. 

That  afternoon  it  rained,  and  Pete  had  to  stay  at 
home.  Early  the  next  day  he  drew  his  cart  up  the 
hill  to  Clarence's  house  with  very  forgiving  feelings, 
but  found  he  had  left  word  with  the  hired  man  that 
he  had  gone  off  and  wasn't  going  to  have  any  more 


114  PETES    PRINTING    PRESS. 

to  do  with  him.  Of  course,  honor  and  justice  then 
compelled  him  to  take  what  belonged  to  him,  espe- 
cially as  the  man  told  him  that  Clarence  had 
expected  him  with  his  cart. 

So  Pete  sadly  entered  the  shed,  looked  at  the 
forms,  thought  everything  was  mixed  up,  and  did 
what  he  always  did  when  longing  to  speak  right  out, 
but  afraid  to  do  so ;  he  took  hold  of  his  lower  lip  with 
thumb  and  forefinger  and  twirled  it  back  and  forth 
turning  it  over  and  under.  Clarence's  little  sister 
appeared  whilst  he  was  thus  engaged,  and  seeing 
the  sadness  of  his  eyes  and  the  perplexity  of  his 
mouth  and  fingers,  she  ventured  to  say,  "It  is  too  bad, 
and  Clarence  said  it  was,  and  that  he  did  not  mean 
to  upset  the  type,  but  that  you  got  him  so  provoked 
he  could  not  help  it,  and  that  you  could  come  and 
pick  it  out  if  you  choose,  'cause  it  was  yours ;  but 
he  —  "  and  she  stopped  frightened. 

"  That's  just  what  I  shall  do.  You  tell  him  it  is 
a  mighty  mean  trick ;  that  I  have  left  him  fifteen 
letters  —  you  remember  fifteen,  not  thirteen,"  said 
Pete. 

He  had  a  hard  time  sorting  the  type ;  part  of  it 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  115 

was  smashed,  part  of  it  very  dirty.  His  cart  at  last 
laden,  he  sorrowfully  bore  home  his  press  and  its 
appendages,  only  to  spend  still  more  time  in  clean- 
ing and  "  getting  it  to  rights."  "  I  must  finish  that 
order,"  thought  he,  "for  orders  are  business  ;  even 
if  a  firm  is  dissolved,  the  remaining  partner  is  bound 
to  complete  the  work."  So  he  manfully  invested 
some  capital  in  the  type  for  degrees,  minutes  and 
seconds,  closed  the  contract  and  received  extra  pay 
for  his  neatness  and  quickness. 

But  he  grew  tired  and  longed  for  companion- 
ship, so  that  when  Shel  appeared,  he  found  Pete 
quite  dejected,  willing  to  listen  to  terms  of  partner- 
ship, but  utterly  unwilling  to  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  Clarence 

"  Very  well,"  said  Shel,  "  I'll  give  him  up  if  you'll 
give  up  some  one  else,  and  then  we'll  start  even." 

"  Why,  I  never  thought  of  any  one." 

"  Never  mind,"  was  the  reply,  "  make  believe  you 
did ;  just  like  politics  —  each  of  us  gives  up  his  best 
man  and  takes  an  unknown  third  man.  We  must 
agree  on  one  who  has  a  self-inker  larger  than  this 
and  lots  of  type.  I  want  to  extend  the  business." 


u6  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

"Why  can't  we  begin  at  once  as  Jones,  Downs 
&  Co.,  and  when  we  find  the  right  kind  of  boy  let 
him  be  Co." 

"Agreed,  we'll  get  out  hand-bills  at  once." 
That  evening  the  large  trees  on  the  road  down 
to  the  village  post-office,  the  doors  of  the  grocery, 
the  dry  goods,  the  apothecary  and  provision  stores 
— even  the  depot  itself  —  bore  large  placards  with 
the  following  announcement : 

JONES,  DOWNS  &  CO., 

lob  $rinte, 
Orders  promptly  executed. 

Many  a  tired  man  stopped  his  horse  that  night 
and  through  the  next  week  to  read  those  staring 
notices.  The  schoolboys  made  fun  of  the  new  con- 
cern, wondered  how  long  it  would  last  and  tried  to 
rouse  distrust  of  each  other  in  the  minds  of  the  two 
partners,  who  saw  that  if  they  could  only  obtain 
orders  they  could  boast  that  they  understood  the 
tricks  of  the  trade  and  knew  the  use  of  advertise- 
ments ;  and  so  it  proved. 


PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS.  117 

For,  the  city  music-teacher  coming  to  the  village 
was  so  amused  by  these  white  patches  on  the  trees 
that  she  sought  their  shop  and  gave  them  an  order 
to  print  her  bill ;  and  when  the  young  townspeople 
received,  instead  of  a  written  bill,  one  printed  in 
due  form  by  those  at  whom  they  had  laughed,  they 
became  strangely  silent.  Soon  came  an  order  for 
some  tags  for  a  large  family  with  an  endless  amount 
of  baggage,  all  to  be  marked  alike,  as  easier  to  read. 
An  actual  stranger  sent  an  order  for  work.  The 
village  calling  increased  so  fast  that  it  was  difficult 
to  meet  the  demands  for  visiting  cards.  At  last 
came  an  order  from  a  church  fair  for  hand-bills,  but 
of  too  large  a  size  for  their  press.  They  had  often 
reflected  upon  the  "Co."  but  had  delayed  action, 
which  now  became  imperative  and  necessitated 
partnership  with  the  boy  who  would  have  the  big- 
gest press,  and  this  was  Dick. 

He  was  interviewed  but  proved  refractory  on  a 
point  of  honor.  "For,"  said  he,  "no  one  will  know 
I  am  '  Go/  and  if  you  are  such  a  great  firm,  I  want 
the  public  honor  of  belonging  to  you." 

What  was  to  be   done?   the  fair  could   not  be 


n8  PETE'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 

delayed  until  matters  were  settled;  nor  could 
the  boys  give  up  their  job  as  being  beyond  their 
power. 

"  I'll  tell  you  my  terms,"  said  Dick  finally.  "  I'll 
put  my  press  and  all  its  fixings  into  the  concern  if 
you'll  let  me  have  two  thirds  of  the  profits  on  this 
job  and  on  all  the  rest  of  the  work  you  do  this 
week.  I  am  '  hard  up '  and  I  know  you  have  got 
orders  ahead." 

These  were  hard  terms,  but  on  the  other  hand,  as 
Dick  could  command  custom,  and  was  a  good,  clean 
printer,  they  acceded  to  his  conditions  and  printed 
the  bills  in  startling  type,  using  one  or  two  kinds 
in  the  same  word,  so  as  to  make  through  the  eye  a 
vivid  impression  of  the  meaning  of  the  Fair. 

From  this  time  they  had  so  much  work  to  do  in  bill 
heads,  tickets,  envelopes,  etc.,  that  they  led  a  calm 
life  of  unbroken  industry,  laying  aside  one  quarter 
of  their  earnings  each  week  as  a  fund  for  future 
stock  and  dividing  the  other  three  quarters  equally 
between  them. 


AUNT   ELIZABETH'S    FENCE. 

THE  little  village  of  H is  a  sort  of  double- 
header,  having  a  centre  at  each  end,  so  to 
speak.  The  end  nearest  the  railroad  is  known  as 
"The  Three  Corners,"  on  account  of  a  certain  ar- 
rangement of  the  roads  meeting  at  that  point, 
while  the  farther  assemblage  of  houses  bears  a 
similar  appellation,  "  The  Four  Corners,"  for  a 
similar  reason.  The  two  parts  of  the  town  are 
in  reality  two  distinct  villages,  although  existing 
as  one  corporate  body,  and  are  banded  together 
like  the  Siamese  twins  by  a  road  leading  directly 
from  the  heart  of  one  to  that  of  the  other.  On 
each  side  of  this  rural  street,  at  neighborly  dis- 
tances, stand  pretty  white  cottages,  a  story  and 
a  half  high,  nestling  behind  white  fences  under 
shading  maples.  Midway  between  the  two  Centres 
these  dwellings  stand  further  apart  and  are  more 
119 


120  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

evidently  farmhouses ;  and  just  beyond  a  peace- 
ful green  meadow  one's  attention  is  suddenly  ar- 
rested by  a  queer  house  —  an  architectural  oddity, 
having  an  insignificant  main  part,  and  numerous 
additions,  of  different  heights,  jutting  forth  in 
every  direction  without  any  seeming  plan,  but  look- 
ing as  if  they  might  have  crept  together  some  cold 
winter's  day  for  mutual  warmth,  or  as  if  the  mid- 
dle house  was  a  bantam  trying  to  shield  an  over- 
grown brood,  a  solitary  tower  having  the  effect  of 
a  chicken  on  the  mother  hen's  back. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  this  odd  residence 
that  our  young  hero,  Jem  French,  was  born.  His 
father,  like  his  house,  is  decidedly  odd.  Mr.  Jos- 
eph French  was  a  man  of  ideas,  not  a  farmer  as 
you  might  suppose  from  his  living  in  such  a  local- 
ity, but  a  Jack-at-all-trades,  and  in  spite  of  the 
proverb,  good  at  all.  Therein  lays  the  secret  of 
his  queer-shaped  house.  One  of  the  little  exten- 
sions is  a  tin  shop  where  he  mends  the  pots  and 
pans  of  the  neighborhood,  or  creates  any  new  ves- 
sels desired.  Another  projection  is  devoted  to 
carpenter  work,  and  in  a  third  addition  he  makes 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  121 

boots  and  shoes  for  his  own  family  and  cobbles 
for  others.  In  the  room  above,  with  the  big  glass 
window,  the  rustic  beaux  and  belles  sit  like  stat- 
uary, while  he  preserves  their  pictures  in  ambro- 
types.  Each  part  of  the  building  seems  to  be 
devoted  to  some  specialty.  But  in  one  part  the 
door  is  always  found  to  be  locked  and  the  window 
carefully  curtained,  and  even  the  children  are  for- 
bidden to  enter.  In  this  room  Mr.  French  still 
spends  hours  and  hours,  sometimes  days  and  weeks, 
inventing,  nobody  knows  what  as  yet. 

Jem  early  bid  fair  to  become  another  such  man 
as  his  father,  though  evidently  that  would  not  be 
to  his  pecuniary  benefit,  for  the  entire  surplus 
earnings  of  his  parent  had  thus  far  been  spent  in 
obtaining  materials  for  further  experimenting.  Still 
Jem  inherited  the  inventive  talent.  He  was  en- 
vied and  admired  by  schoolfellows  and  playmates. 
Not  even  the  richest  among  them  could  boast  of 
owning  such  unique  toys  as  Jem  was  constantly 
making.  The  little  stream  that  ran  through  the 
meadow  was  spanned  by  miniature  bridges  of 
which  he  was  sole  architect.  His  sailing  craft,  of 


122  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

all  kinds,  and  fully  rigged,  swam  in  the  placid  water. 
Dams  were  placed  here  and  there,  and  sluice-ways 
conducted  the  water  to  its  work  of  turning  sundry 
over-shot  wheels  which  in  their  turn  operated  little 
pumps  or  moved  the  machinery  of  a  mill.  He 
made  his  sisters  various  mechanical  figures  which 
moved  to  the  swinging  of  a  pendulum.  Cardboard 
images  were  made  to  saw  wood,  fiddle,  or  dance 
for  hours  together,  the  motive  power  being  obtained 
from  sand  running  through  an  inverted  cone.  As 
for  carving,  he  had  ornamented  the  walls  of  the 
house  with  a  profusion  of  brackets,  wall-pockets, 
and  the  like,  taking  his  designs  of  birds  or  flowers 
from  nature's  own  pattern.  He  was,  in  fact,  a 
veritable  young  Yankee  with  his  jack-knife,  and 
few  were  the  things  he  could  not  fashion  with  it, 
and  few  the  principles  of  physics  studied  at  school 
which  he  did  not  seek  to  embody  or  illustrate ;  and 
he  had  advanced  beyond  the  range  of  studies  in 
a  country  school  when  he  was  withdrawn  by  his 
.father  to  assist  in  "doing the  chores."  Then  hav- 
ing little  society  except  his  own  thoughts  he  grad- 
ually became  discontented. 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  123 

One  day  the  mail-wagon  stopped  at  his  father's 
gate.  "  A  letter  for  Mr.  French,"  said  the  carrier. 

Even  such  a  commonplace  occurrence  had  an 
interest  for  the  listless  Jem  and  he  ran  to  pick  it  up. 
"  It  didn't  come  very  far,  I  guess,  for  here  is  the 
village  postmark,"  said  he  to  his  mother  who  came 
to  the  door  and  extended  her  hand  for  the  epistle. 

"It's  from  aunt  Elizabeth,"  said  she,  looking  at 
the  superscription. 

Jem  puckered  his  lips  to  a  whistle,  for  aunt 
Elizabeth  was  not  on  good  terms  with  her  brother 
and  had  little  intercourse  with  the  family.  What 
news  could  his  aunt  have  to  impart,  thus  to  break 
her  usual  silence  ?  The  more  he  thought  about  it 
the  stronger  grew  his  curiosity.  Nevertheless  it 
remained  ungratified  until  his  father  made  his  ap- 
pearance at  the  supper-table  and  broke  the  seal. 

If  chirography  gives  any  clew  to  the  character 
of  a  writer,  the  person  who  penned  that  letter  was 
certainly  plain,  hard,  and  angular,  while  the  com- 
position of  the  epistle  indicated  the  author  was  in 
the  habit  of  bluntly  freeing  her  mind.  She  began 
by  telling  her  brother  he  was  shiftless,  progressed 


124  AUNT   ELIZABETHS    FENCE. 

by  referring  to  the  great  number  of  mouths  he  had 
to  fill,  and  ended  by  offering  to  take  the  care  of  one 
of  the  children  off  his  hands,  and  requesting  Jem 
should  be  sent  to  her  house  at  the  Four  Corners. 

"O  father,  do  let  me  go,"  said  Jem. 

"Write  to  your  aunt,  and  tell  her  to  expect  you 
next  Thursday,"  said  he,  at  last. 

The  time  that  intervened  seemed  to  drag  slowly 
to  Jem,  but  the  supreme  moment  finally  came,  and 
he  stood  at  the  gate  with  his  best  suit  on. 

"  Be  a  good  boy,  and  try  to  be  useful  to  your 
aunt  Elizabeth,"  were  his  mother's  parting  words. 

"  Good-by,  good-by,"  merrily  shouted  Jem,  and 
waving  a  farewell  salute  with  his  handkerchief 
he  started  away  with  a  quick,  elastic  step  that 
would  soon  bring  him  to  his  destination  only  two 
miles  away. 

Miss  Elizabeth  French  lived  at  the  old  home- 
stead. She  was  a  maiden  lady  and  had  lived 
alone  ever  since  the  death  of  her  father.  Once  a 
year  she  made  a  bargain  with  the  man  who  tilled 
the  farm  on  shares  and  occasionally  asked  him 
a  few  questions  relative  to  the  crops. 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  125 

Further  than  that  she  had  little  to  do  with  the 
outside  world.  One  consequence  was  that  her 
house  and  its  surroundings  showed  the  "urgent 
need  of  a  caring  hand.  Stones  were  missing  from 
the  chimney,  and  shingles  from  the  roof.  The 
frame  was  out  of  repair  and  there  were  only  traces 
left  of  former  coats  of  paint.  Of  the  picket  fence 
which  had  once  bounded  her  possessions  in  front, 
not  even  a  post  remained.  Years  before,  the  slats 
had  begun  to  decay,  until  the  dilapidation  became 
an  eyesore  to  even  Miss  Elizabeth  herself.  But 
when  the  cow-boys  in  search  of  their  charges  that 
always  pastured  along  the  sides  of  the  road,  rattled 
their  sticks  over  its  surface,  it  became  a  nuisance 
she  could  no  longer  stand.  So  one  morning  after 
having  been  awakened  unusually  early  by  her 
noisy  tormentors,  she  had  every  vestige  removed, 
and  the  post-holes  filled,  leaving  the  yard  as  open 
and  unprotected  as  the  street  itself. 

It  may  have  been  the  netd  of  some  one  to  help 
her  put  her  outside  world  to  rights,  and  her  knowl- 
edge of  Jem's  peculiar  talents,  that  inspired  the 
unexpected  invitation.  However  that  might  be, 


126  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

she  stood  at  the  window  watching  as  Jem,  red-faced 
and  dusty  from  his  walk,  came  up  the  path. 

"  So  ye've  come,  hev  ye  ?  "  said  she  as  she  let  him 
in  and  relieved  him  of  his  satchel.  "Ye  look  kind 
o'  tuckered  out.  S'pose  the  folks  must  all  be  well, 
or  ye  wouldn't  hev  come.  Yer  father  ain't  doin' 
nothin'  yet,  I  take  it,  'cept  shettin' himself  up,  same 
as  ever,  and  leavin*  his  family  to  shift  for  them- 
selves ?  Hungry  too,  ain't  ye  ?  That  'minds  me." 

But  first  she  took  him  to  a  little  room  he  was  to 
occupy,  that  he  might  bathe  his  hands  and  face. 
The  apartment  was  neat  and  cosey,  for  however 
slack  she  may  have  been  with  the  outside  of  her 
mansion,  Miss  French  was  a  good  houseke'eper. 
And  by  the  time  he  had  washed  and  looked  over  a 
little  pile  of  books  that  lay  upon  the  old-fashioned 
bureau,  his  aunt  was  calling  him  down  to  dinner. 

"  Well,  Jem,"  said  Miss  Elizabeth,  as  they  sat 
facing  each  other  at  the  little  table,  "  it  seems  good 
to  see  somebody  a-sittin'  here  an'  eatin'  besides 
myself.  Hope  ye  won't  git  lonesome." 

"No  danger  of  that,  auntie,  if  you  only  give  me 
something  to  do,"  was  the  cheerful  response. 


AUNT   ELIZABETH  S    FENCE. 


127 


"  If  that's  all  ye  want,  the  land  knows  there's 
enough  to  be  done,"  said  his  aunt  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  then,  what  first  ?  " 

"  Wai,  what  bothers  me  most  jest  now  are  them 
cattle  walkin'  round  the  yard.  T'want  only  yister- 
day  Squire  Mullins'es  cow  hed  to  eat  up  the  top  of 
my  pennyroyal  geranium  and  trod  down  my  ear- 
drops and  lady-slippers,  and  now  they  ain't  any- 
thing left  but  bachelor's-buttons  that's  worth  look- 
ing at.  Ye  might  set  somethin'  alongside  of  the 
road,  jest  enough  to  keep  out  the  critters.  Don't 
s'pose  ye  could  build  a  fence,  could  ye  ?  " 

"  Well,  aunty,"  said  Jem,  "  I  never  did  build  one, 
but  I  think  I  could.  What  shall  it  be  made  of?" 

"  That's  a  question.  I  burned  up  all  there  was 
left  of  the  old  fence,  for  kindlin'  wood.  You  might 
find  somethin'  out  in  the  old  work-shop  nex'  to  the 
barn.  Father  always  use'  to  be  tinkerin'  around, 
an'  there's  lots  of  rubbish  up  under  the  roof." 

"  What  kind  of  a  fence  would  you  like  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anything.  Anything  to  keep  out  the  crit- 
ters. Ef  ye  could  think  of  anything  to  git  the  best 
o'  them  cow-boys  'twould  suit  pretty  well.  Them 


128  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

boys  are  gettin'  to  be  a  reg'Iar  nuisance.  The}- go 
'long  drawin'  of  their  sticks  on  people's  fences  jist 
as  if  there  was  solid  comfort  in  that  eternal  rattle, 
rattle,  rattle.  What  makes  boys  think  they  can't 
never  enjoy  themselves  unless  they're  a-makin'  a 
noise  ?  But  I've  had  the  best  of  them  for  two  or 
three  years.  They  had  to  stop  in  front  of  my  place. 
But  now  the  cows  is  gittin'  to  be  wus  than  the 
racket,  an'  ef  ye  could  think  of  any  way  to  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stun,  jest  do  it.  I'll  leave  you  to  plan 
it  your  own  way.  Ye  might  look  'round  this  arter- 
rioon  an'  see  what  there  is  to  do  with." 

So  when  dinner  was  over  Jem  began  to  "  look 
'round."  In  the  old  workshop  were  some  sticks  of 
timber  that  might  serve  for  posts,  but  there  were 
few  boards  and  not  half  enough  for  pickets.  Know- 
ing that  his  aunt  would  be  indisposed  to  lay  out 
any  money  he  looked  very  thoroughly  through 
sheds  and  barn.  In  the  latter  place  he  moved  a 
pile  of  rubbish  in  hopes  of  rinding  something  be- 
neath. The  heap  consisted  mostly  of  half-inch 
iron  rods  of  various  sizes,  and  he  was  about  to  go 
elsewhere  when  he  stumbled  against  a  short  piece 


AUNT    ELIZABETH  S    FENCE.  129 

and  set  it  rolling  to  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Pick- 
ing it  up  he  threw  it  back  into  the  corner,  where  it 
clanged  with  a  noise  that  sent  a  hen  cackling  from 
her  nest  in  a  remote  part  of  the  mow. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  use  these  rods,"  mused  he, 
"  but  then  the  boys  could  make  more  noise  than 
ever  and  that  would  hardly  do." 

Just  then  his  face  seemed  to  be  illuminated  by 
an  inspiration.  His  eyes  twinkled  with  fun.  But 
his  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a  call  to  supper. 
Tea  time  was  occupied  in  the  discussion  of  family 
matters  and  his  aunt  related  bits  of  private  history 
that  kept  his  attention  well  occupied  until  eight 
o'clock,  at  which  time  Miss  Elizabeth  usually  re- 
tired for  the  night.  Jem  was  tired  too,  and  was 
soon  upstairs  and  fast  asleep. 

It  seemed  hardly  anytime  at  all  ere  Jem  was  in 
the  barn  again  ready  to  begin  work  on  the  fence. 
He  had  now  a  clear  idea  regarding  it  and,  smiling 
often,  he  worked  with  a  will.  First,  he  sorted  the 
pieces  of  rod  into  piles  according  to  length.  If 
took  some  little  time  to  accomplish  this  part  of  his 
task.  Then,  humming  to  himself  as  he  worked,  he 


130  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

would,  both  listening  and  humming  as  he  did  it, 
strike  each  piece  with  a  stick  to  determine  its  sui- 
tability. If  so,  it  was  placed  on  some  one  of  eight 
piles  which  he  had  labelled  with  brown  paper  as 
"  A,"  "  B,"  and  so  on.  If  not  it  was  thrown  back 
to  the  corner. 

The  next  thing  he  did  was  to  set  two  posts  at 
each  end  of  the  proposed  line,  with  fifteen  others 
at  regular  intervals  between.  Across  the  tops  he 
secured  his  principal  rail,  with  another  to  corre- 
spond a  few  inches  from  the  ground.  Boring  holes 
through  these  cross  rails  he  inserted  one  of  the  iron 
bars,  letting  it  project  six  inches  at  the  top  and 
resting  the  bottom  on  a  stake  driven  into  the 
ground  directly  beneath  it.  The  next  bar  was 
shorter  than  the  first  and  a  longer  stake  had  to  be 
driven  in  order  that  the  top  should  be  on  a  level 
with  the  first.  As  he  went  on,  the  rods  were  in- 
serted without  any  seeming  regularity  of  spacing. 
Passers-by  stopped  to  gaze  at  the  singular  con- 
struction and  made  various  comments  concerning 
it. 

"  That's  a  kinder  queer  pattern  for  a  fence,  ain't 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  133 

it  ?  "  queried  a  lad  who  came  along.  "  Here's  a 
mistake,  anyhow,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  space  be- 
'  tween  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  bars,  which  was 
twice  as  great  as  any  interval  before.  "  Left  one 
out,  here.  Or  be  ye  going  to  leave  this  cat  hole 
for  dogs  to  git  through  ?  " 

"  That's  to  make  boys  ask  questions,"  was  the 
only  reply  vouchsafed. 

One  old  farmer  advised  him  to  "  put  all  the  bars 
of  one  length  together.  Ye'll  find  it  a  good  deal 
easier."  Jem  thanked  him  respectfully  for  the  ad- 
vice but  neglected  to  follow  it.  His  aunt  also  came 
to  the  front  door  occasionally  to  watch  his  progress, 
but  shook  her  head  as  if  doubtful  of  either  the  or- 
nament or  utility  of  his  work. 

But  Jem  went  on  steadily  with  the  undertaking 
until  he  reached  the  end  of  his  line,  having  just 
enough  bars  to  finish,  as  it  happened,  or  perhaps  as 
he  had  planned.  At  the  bottom  he  then  boarded 
the  fence  to  cover  the  stakes  and  the  irregularity 
of  the  iron  bars,  and  then  he  annouuced  the  com- 
pletion of  the  work  to  his  aunt. 

"  'Tain't  jest  sech  a  fence  as  I  had  been  think- 


134  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

ing  of,  but  I  s'pose  it  '11  answer,  only  it  won't  be 
twenty-four  hours  before  them  everlastin'  boys  '11 
be  drawin'  of  their  sticks  on  it.  But  jest  let  me 
ketch  'em  at  it  an'  I'll  —  I'll  " —  In  fact  his  aunt 
seemed  more  troubled  than  pleased  with  her  new 
fence,  but  Jem  only  smiled  at  her  apprehensions. 

Our  young  fence-builder  was  up  before  the  sun 
next  morning,  and  down-stairs  peeping  through  the 
front  blinds.  At  length  he  hears  the  sound  of 
tramping  hoofs  and  a  cow  comes  lazily  down  the 
road,  cropping  a  mouthful  of  grass  here  and  there. 
On  a  distant  fence  he  hears  the  old  familiar  rattling. 
Will  it  be  kept  up  when  the  new  fence  is  reached  ? 
Ah !  there  is  the  cow-boy.  He  is  stopping  to  ex- 
amine the  new  construction.  Now  he  is  satisfied, 
swings  the  butt  end  of  his  whip  against  the  first  rod, 
and  starts  along.  Jem  listens  eagerly.  A  sound 
fills  the  air  as  of  some  one  playing  a  gigantic  harp. 
The  cow-boy  stops  in  amazement  at  the  effect  he 
has  produced.  Recovering  from  his  astonishment 
he  goes  a  little  further  and  again  comes  the  sound 
of  —  a  tune  which  seems  to  grow  familiar  to  the 
dazed  performer.  Finally  he  starts  off  on  a  run  to 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  135 

the  very  end  of  the  fence,  when  the  tune  is  fin- 
ished. 

At  this  point  Jem  is  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
his  aunt,  craning  her  neck  through  the  window  for 
a  look.  "  Where's  the  music  a-playin'  ?  "  said  she. 

Jem,  laughing,  pointed  to  the  boy  who  had  gone 
back  to  the  starting  point  and  was  about  to  repeat 
the  performance. 

"  Here,  you  young  rascal !  "  screamed  Miss  Eliz- 
beth. 

But  the  lad  had  started  the  tune  again,  and  was 
not  to  be  deterred  by  threats,  and  Miss  Elizabeth 
stared  surprised  and  speechless  as  the  note  vibrated 
with  great  resonance.  As  the  air  was  finished  the 
second  time,  the  boy  acted  as  if  suddenly  made 
crazy.  He  shouted,  he  threw  his  cap  in  the  air  and 
himself  on  the  ground,  screaming  and  laughing  as 
he  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  grass.  Suddenly  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  ran  towards  home  leav- 
ing the  cow  to  take  care  of  herself. 

"Mercy!"  said  Miss  Elizabeth,  "  ef  that  don't 
beat  anythin'  I  ever  heard  on  !  A  fence  that'll  play 
a  tune  !  A  '  Yankee  Doodle  '  fence  !  What  ever 


136  AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE. 

got  into  your  head  to  git  up  such  a  thing  as  that? 
You're  your  father's  own  son  !  " 

By  this  time  the  cow-boy  had  returned  with  half 
a  dozen  companions,  all  as  excited  as  himself. 

Miss  French  was  now  as  eager  for  the  boys  to 
draw  their  sticks  on  her  fence  as  she  had  been  un- 
willing before.  The  patriotic  tune  rung  out  again 
and  again.  The  neighbors  came  to  the  scene  and 
looked  on  in  bewilderment. 

"  I  knew  that  chap  was  up  to  sunthin',"  Jem  could 
hear  the  farmer  say  who  had  proffered  the  advice 
on  the  day  previous.  "  He's  old  Joe  French's  boy, 
you  know." 

"  You  might  a-known  then  he  was  smarter  'n 
lightnin',"  said  another. 

"  Guess  I'll  get  him  to  build  me  a  musical  fence," 
remarked  a  third,  "  only  I'll  hav'  '  Home,  Sweet 
Home/  cuz  that's  Samanthy's  favorite  tune." 

"  He  might  fence  in  the  meetin'-house  with  '  Old 
Hundred,'  "  suggested  Deacon  Mullen. 

But  the  novelty  soon  wore  away  and  Miss  French 
began  to  tire  of  the  ceaseless  repetition.  Besides 
the  boys  were  too  impatient  to  have  their  turns  in 


AUNT  ELIZABETH'S  FENCE.  137 

playing  to  allow  their  predecessors  to  finish  ere 
they  commenced.  To  cap  the  climax,  one  boy, 
having  concluded,  turned  about  and  ran  the  other 
way  playing  the  tune  backwards  to  the  great  dis- 
gust of  both  the  builder  and  proprietoress.  Miss 
Elizabeth  rushed  out. 

"  See  here,"  cried  she,  "  I  guess  you've  played 
that  fence  long  enough  for  one  morning.  Now 
you'd  better  go  home.  Go  home,  I  say  ! " 

But  the  boys  were  not  to  be  deprived  of  such 
an  amusement,  and  they  hammered  away  furiously 
wherever  they  could  get  a  chance.  Unable  to 
make  any  impression  upon  them  Miss  Elizabeth 
turned  fiercely  upon  poor  Jem  and  said  in  a  voice 
that  admitted  no  compromise,  "Take  it  down,  I 
can't  abide  it  no  longer  !  It's  wus  than  the  cows ! " 
and  with  that  she  seized  one  of  the  bars,  while  Jem, 
alarmed  for  his  marvellous  fence,  gave  a  great  leap 
and  sprang  —  out  of  bed,  broad  awake. 


THE    BUTTON    BOY. 

THE  wind  blew  as  it  never  had  blown  before. 
I  think  it  blew  that  boy  straight  through 
the  gate,  up  the  path,  through  the  door,  and  into 
the  back  parlor  where  the  family  sat.  He  stopped 
there,  gave  a  little  puff  of  spent  breath  and  sat 
down.  He  had  a  box  under  his  arm.  It  was  flat 
and  wide,  a  pasteboard  box,  and  when  he  put  it 
down  all  the  family  dropped  their  books  and 
looked  at  it  attentively.  They  were  a  very  literary 
family  and  read  so  much  that  it  was  a  great  com- 
pliment to  any  box  to  have  them  put  down  their 
books  when  they  had  once  taken  them  up. 

"  You  haven't  opened  it  yet  ?  "  asked  the  Mother. 

"  No,"  said  the  Boy  scornfully ;  all  the  family 
had  long  ago  agreed  he  had  a  high  caste  of  coun- 
tenance which  this  manner  suited  remarkably  well 
—  but  he  was  not  in  the  least  conscious  of  it  him- 

•38 


THE    BUTTON    BOY.  139 

self.  "  No,  what's  the  hurry  ?  plenty  of  time  to 
look  in  it  when  I  get  home." 

"  It's  a  suit,  a  suit  of  clothes,"  calmly  said  the 
Sister,  picking  up  her  book  again.  Every  one 
stared  at  the  Sister  who  could  see  through  a  paste- 
board box.  "  Somebody  has  made  a  hole  in  the 
bottom  of  the  box  and  I  see  a  button,  a  brass  but- 
ton," she  explained. 

True ;  there  was  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  box. 

"  He  said,  if  I  put  the  contents  of  this  box  to 
their  proper  use,"  said  the  Boy,  "  every  day  as  long 
as  they  would  bear  it,  I  would  not  only  learn  some- 
thing, but  I  should  be  his  heir ;  so  I  might  as  well 
open  the  lid  and  see  what  is  inside.  I  thought 
books,  for  Uncle  knows  I  always  put  books  to 
their  proper  use." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Father ;  "  it  is  books,  no 
doubt." 

"  But,"  said  the  Sister,  turning  a  page  and  read- 
ing all  the  time,  "  nobody  puts  brass  buttons  on 
books." 

"  I  think  you  might  as  well  open  the  box,"  said 
the  Mother,  "I  think  we  are  all  curious"  — 


140  THE   BUTTON    BOY. 

"  Curious ! "  exclaimed  the  family  indignantly. 

"  Curious-/v  affected  by  your  Uncle's  making 
such  a  strange  and  trifling  condition  after  our 
Boy's  visit  to  him,"  went  on  the  Mother.  "  But 
he  is  certainly  very  odd — I  should  really  like  to 
know  why  ? " 

"  Don't  take  time  to  untie  the  knot,"  said  the 
Father. 

"  Here's  my  knife,"  said  the  Elder  Brother. 

The  Boy  cut  the  string,  the  Sharp-eyed  Sister 
looked  oy,er  the  top  of  her  book,  the  Father  put 
on  his  glasses,  and  the  lid  was  lifted.  Yes,  it  was 
a  suit.  A  blue  cloth  suit,  quite  bright  in  color  but 
of  very  fine  material  and  good  make.  It  consisted 
of  a  pair  of  knickerbockers  and  a  tight  jacket,  and 
it  was  most  extraordinary  how  the  tailor  had  ever 
been  able  to  put  on  so  many  buttons.  The  jacket 
was  double-breasted  and  there  were  three  rows 
down  the  front,  a  dozen  in  each,  the  size  of  a  cop- 
per penny.  There  were  some  fancy  slits  in  the 
back;  buttons  to  the  number  of  nine  ornamented 
these.  There  were  four  on  each  sleeve ;  there 
were  three  on  each  pocket  of  the  breeches,  and 


THE   BUTTON   BOY.  141 

four  again  appeared  on  the  outside  above  the  knee 
on  each  leg. 

For  a  moment  the  family  was  silent. 

"  The  buttons  must  have  cost  a  great  deal,"  said 
the  Mother,  finally,  "  I  should  really  like  to  know 
the  price  a  dozen." 

"  You  couldn't  have  made  a  hole  anywhere  in 
that  box  without  striking  a  button,"  said  the  Sharp- 
eyed  Sister.  She  gave  one  a  little  knock,  adding, 
"  Perhaps  they  are  gold." 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Father,  taking  off  his  glasses 
and  wiping  them,  "  I  think  I  would  have  a  few  re- 
moved." 

"  I  have  never  observed  anything  like  this  in  my 
Uncle's  own  dress,"  remarked  the  Elder  Brother, 
"  he  certainly  has  peculiar  taste  in  boy's  clothing. 
I  think  I'll  drop  in  on  him  and  ask  him  a  few  lead- 
ing questions  as  to  his  object." 

"  You  will  have  '  to  drop '  after  a  special  journey 
of  twenty-five  miles  by  rail,"  said  the  Sharp-eyed 
Sister,  "  and  he  won't  appreciate  your  thirst  for 
knowledge." 

During  this  time  the  Boy  had  said  nothing,  but 


142  THE   BUTTON    BOY. 

the  scornful  caste  had  entirely  vanished  from  his 
countenance,  for  he  had  discovered  a  note  in  one 
of  the  pockets  and  had  been  reading  it.  The  fam- 
ily now  saw  this,  and,  although  they  were  not  in 
the  least  hurry  to  hear  its  contents,  they  ceased 
their  remarks  at  once  to  kindly  give  him  a  chance 
to  tell  them  what  he  read.  It  was  this  :  The  suit 
was  to  be  worn  upon  all  occasions  until  it  should 
be  outgrown  or  worn  out,  no  risk  of  damage  was 
ever  to  be  run  with  it,  no  allusion  of  any  sort  was 
ever  to  be  made  to  it  by  the  Boy  or  the  family, 
and  no  alterations  of  any  description  to  be  made 
in  it,  unless  to  sew  on  a  button  when  it  should 
happen  to  come  off. 

"Wear  that!"  burst  out  the  Boy  scornfully, 
"does  he  think  me  an  idiot?  Why,  I'd  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  town.  I  should  think  he 
saw  enough  of  me  to  know  I  have  at  least  as  much 
intelligence  as  most  boys  of  my  age." 

"Very  much  more,"  said  the  Mother. 

"I  never  saw  such  cloth,"  said  the  Sharp-eyed 
Sister,  "it  will  never  wear  out,  and  you  are  not 
growing  very  fast  either." 


THE   BUTTON    BOY.  143 

"  I  would  not  like  to  wear  it  myself;  I  don't  even 
know  as  I  would  like  to  be  in  its  society,"  observed 
the  Elder  Brother ;  "  but  neither  would  I  like  to 
lose  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"Well  now,"  said  the  Mother  with  her  mild 
smile,  "there  aren't  so  very  many;  there  aren't 
seven  dozen,  quite.  They  must  be  hollow  for  the 
suit  isn't  so  heavy." 

"They  are,"  said  the  Sister.  "  I've  been  sound- 
ing them.  Put  on  the  thing  and  wear  it.  Don't 
be  so  silly  as  to  throw  away  all  that  money.  You 
can't  wear  it  more  than  two  years." 

"  Two  years  !  "  said  the  Boy,  turning  red. 

"People  will  get  accustomed  to  you  by  that 
time,"  urged  the  Father. 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  all  the  family 
with  a  wondering  air,  and  then  they  all  fell  to  read- 
ing for  a  half-hour  with  their  books  upside  down. 

The  Boy  decided  to  wear  the  suit,  and  follow 
the  conditions  and  wrote  so  to  his  Uncle. 

His  first  appearance  in  the  street  in  his  new  at- 
tire was  greeted  by  a  lady  who  stopped  short  and 
exclaimed,  "  Good  gracious !  what  singular  parents 


144  THE   BUTTON    BOY. 

that  child  must  have,  and  he  actually  looks  proud 
of  his  dress  too  !  " 

"It's  my  caste  of  countenance,"  thought  the 
Boy ;  but  as  he  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  have  it 
connected  with  his  dress,  and  disgusted,  beside, 
that  he  should  be  thought  vulgar,  he  tried  to 
alter  the  caste,  though  he  turned  very  red  when 
people  looked  at  him.  For  some  time  it  went  on 
this  same  way;  he  caught  glances  and  overheard 
remarks  such  as  he  had  once  applied  to  other  peo- 
ple but  which  he  never  dreamed  could  enter  peo- 
ple's minds  in  regard  to  him.  Even  his  own  family 
did  not  spare  him.  A  dozen  times  he  was  on  the 
point  of  casting  off  the  glittering  suit  and  renounc- 
ing the  money  it  represented,  but  just  as  many 
times  he  thought  he  would  try  it  yet  another  day. 
But  to  do  this  he  learned  he  must  be  quiet  and 
prefer  the  background  and  silence  to  the  attention 
he  was  once  so  eager  to  receive. 

One  day  he  sat  in  the  sunlight  with  a  book  try- 
ing to  read  and  wishing  very  much  to  run  outdoors 
and  play  with  the  rest  of  the  boys,  but  kept  back 
by  an  uncomfortable  recollection  of  a  great  deal 


THE  BUTTON   BOY.  145 

of  badgering.  The  Sharp-eyed  Sister  was  reading 
in  the  same  room  too,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
she  would  blink,  and  wink,  and  frown,  and  look 
about ;  finally  she  looked  straight  at  him. 

"  You  tiresome  object,"  she  cried,  "  do  get  out 
of  the  sun.  I  wondered  what  it  was  dazzling  my 
eyes  like  the  reflection  of  seven  dozen  looking- 
glasses,  and  there  it  is  your  odious  buttons." 

The  Boy  got  out  of  the  sun  without  a  reply; 
feeling  a  little  restless  he  moved  now  and  then. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  the  Mother  starting  from  her 
nap  with  a  jerk,  "  you  do  jingle  so." 

After  this  the  Boy  concluded  to  go  out.  When 
his  playfellows  saw  him  they  all  set  up  a  shout  but 
he  said  to  himself,  "  If  I  don't  think  about  myself 
perhaps  they  won't  think  of  me  either,"  and  he 
met  them  running  with  an  answering  shout.  He 
had  never  worked  so  hard  at  forgetting  himself 
before,  and  it  answered  so  well  that  in  the  ardor 
of  play,  by  and  by,  he  forgot  the  buttons  too. 
They  began  a  game  of  leap-frog,  and  whether  the 
fault  of  the  back  given  him  or  whether  his  own 
fault,  the  Boy  missed  twice  jumping  and  hurt  his 


146  THE   BUTTON   BOY. 

temper.  He  began  to  dispute  about  it  with  the 
Back,  and  presently  they  grew  personal. 

"Look  here,"  cried  the  Boy  angrily,  "it  was 
your  fault,  I  say.  If  I  were  in  fault  don't  you  sup- 
pose I'd  own  it  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  Back,  shortly. 

The  Boy  smiled  scornfully.  "  'Cause  you  don't 
understand  such  a  thing  as  owning  up  when  you're 
in  the  wrong,  eh  ?  You  act  so.  But  all  fellows 
aren't  made  on  your  pattern,  I'd  have  you  know  !  " 

"  Nor  all  clothes  on  yours,  Buttons,  I'd  have  you 
know,"  said  the  Back  coolly. 

The  Boy  glared  at  him  and  began  to  stutter, 
"  You  let  my  clothes  alone,  d'ye  hear  ? " 

"Well,"  said  the  Back,  "you  say  I  don't  know 
how  to  give  a  back ;  I  say,  if  I  was  buttoned  up 
like  you  are,  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  take  one.  I 
put  it  to  vote  —  all  in  favor  please  say,  aye,  con- 
trary, no." 

"  Aye  !  "  shouted  the  boys. 

"  Ayes  have  it,"  said  the  Back.  "  Now,  you  know, 
everybody  knows  you  within  ten  miles  by  the  name 
of  the  Button  Boy,  and  I  wouldn't  seek  any  more 


THE  BUTTON    BOY.  149 

notoriety  if  I  was  you  —  I'd  be  content  to  come  in 
second  best  on  leap-frog  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

All  the  boys  began  to  hoot  and  laugh  —  none  of 
them  sympathized  with  him  in  his  moments  of  su- 
periority, and  his  scornful  air  failed  to  impress 
them  as  of  old. 

The  Button  Boy  choked  by  anger  and  mortifica- 
tion could  not  reply.  But  after  a  moment,  "All 
right  for  you  ;  I'll  be  even  with  you,"  he  said,  with 
a  nod  to  the  chief  laugher,  and  went  away. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  had  his  chance,  and 
during  that  time  things  went  from  bad  to  worse 
with  his  conspicuous  dress,  forcing  him  to  be  unos- 
tentatious, exact  —  for  his  goings  and  comings 
could  be  seen  for  a  mile  —  even  retiring.  He 
found  now  that  he  began  to  think  of  some  acts 
and  some  speeches  of  his,  in  the  time  when  he  was 
not  a  Button  Boy,  with  as  much  mortification  as 
the  buttons  often  gave  him  ;  and  he  often  checked 
himself  when  half-way  into  some  piece  of  conceited 
folly.  Yet  he  never  forgot  that  he  owed  the  Back 
*'  one,"  nor  that  it  was  he  who  had  given  him  the 
worst  smart  of  this  miserable  period. 


150  THE   BUTTON    BOY. 

At  last  an  event  occurred  in  the  family;  the 
Uncle  arrived  unexpectedly  and  stated  his  inten- 
tion of  spending  the  night.  "  That  is,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  will  give  me  something  better  for  my  sup- 
per than  a  lot  of  quotations  and  rules  of  grammar. 
I  can't  eat  them,  you  know." 

The  family  thought  this  a  very  odd  speech  and 
a  very  grumpy  old  gentleman  —  but  they  didn't 
tell  him  so.  He  put  on  his  spectacles  and  looked 
at  the  Button  Boy  very  attentively,  but  the  Boy 
didn't  mind;  he  was  too  conscious  of  fulfilling 
faithfully  for  six  months  his  part  of  the  contract, 
and,  beside,  he  stood  before  the  designer  of  the 
Buttons. 

But  when  he  took  the  glasses  off  and  said,  "  Well, 
you  must  be  pretty  fond  of  money.  I  don't  think 
double  the  sum  could  hire  me  to  make  such  a  show 
of  myself,"  the  Boy  minded  it  exceedingly.  He 
sat  down  for  half  an  hour  and  considered  whether 
he  wasn't  doing  a  sort  of  mean  thing  after  all,  and 
he  became  exceedingly  miserable  in  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  not  at  all  the  noble  pattern  of  a  boy  he 
used  to  think  he  was. 


THE   BUTTON    BOY.  151 

In  the  morning  the  Uncle  declared  his  intention 
of  taking  a  walk  and  invited  his  nephew  to  go  with 
him.  Very  sure  that  the  peculiar  disposition  of 
the  old  gentleman  was  capable  of  bringing  him 
into  plenty  of  unpleasant  situations  before  they 
reached  home  again,  the  Boy  found  himself  almost 
indifferent  to  them.  A  feeling  had  been  growing 
on  him  that  anything  short  of  meanness  or  wrong- 
doing was  not  worth  being  mortified  about ;  he 
felt  calm  even  at  a  public  exhibition  of  the  but- 
tons, he  was  so  disturbed  by  the  discovery  of  the 
unworthy  motive  which  had  supported  him  in 
making  a  show  of  himself. 

But  the  Uncle  made  himself  such  delightful 
company  on  their  walk — they  left  the  town  — 
that  at  last  he  forgot  himself,  forgot  himself  until 
they  saw  before  them  a  boy  running.  He  knew 
him  ;  it  was  the  Back.  He  stumbled,  pitched,  fell, 
picked  himself  up  slowly,  limped  painfully  to  the 
roadside  and  sat  down  there  holding  on  to  his 
ankle.  The  Boy  and  the  Uncle  soon  came  up. 

"  Humph  ;  sprained  your  ankle,"  said  the  Uncle. 
"  I  think  so,"  replied  the  Back,  looking  very  white. 


153  THE   BUTTON   BOY. 

The  Uncle  took  out  his  handkerchief,  tore  it  in 
two,  and  dipping  it  in  the  cold  waters  of  the  brook, 
tied  it  tightly  about  his  limb. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  Back,  almost  groan- 
ing, "  I  guess  I  can't  walk  just  yet,  I'll  stay  here 
till  something  comes  along  to  take  me  in.  The  trou- 
ble is  —  the  trouble  is,  I  ought  to  be  going  on,  I 
ought  not  to  lose  a  moment." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  Uncle.  "  You  might  better 
have  thought  of  that  before  you  fell." 

"What  time  is  it,  it  you  please?"  asked  the 
Back  anxiously. 

"Twenty  minutes  of  eleven,"  replied  the  Uncle. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighed  the  Back,  "  only  hard  run- 
ning would  do  it  now.  I  left  my  sketch  at  home 
this  morning,  I  took  up  another  by  mistake ;  it  is 
to  try  for  the  prize  sketch,  and  the  Master  said,  if 
I  would  get  it  into  the  studio  by  eleven  he  would 
accept  it,  but  he  couldn't  later,  because  the  rule  is, 
any  coming  after  that  hour  can't  compete.  I've 
worked  so  hard  at  it,  and  I  thought  I  had  a  good 
chance  —  oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  considered  the  Uncle,  turning  to 


THE   BUTTON    BOY. 


153 


the  Boy;  "you  stopped  with  yours  this  morning 
and  we  saw  a  number  there.  Yours  was  undoubt- 
edly very  good.  Now  open  your  portfolio  and  let 
me  see  yours,"  he  added  to  the  Back. 

The  Back  hesitated,  glanced  at  the  Button  Boy, 
then  yielded. 

"  Humph  !  "  observed  the  Uncle,  and  put  on  his 
glasses.  "  Well,  I  declare,  whom  have  we  here  ? 
*  The  Arrogant  Page ' ;  eh  ?  well,  I  declare  ;  look 
at  this,  nephew  —  here  you  are  with  your  buttons 
and  your  most  scornful  expression  —  disdaining  to 
pick  up  the  little  Prince's  hat !  Where  did  you 
learn  to  draw  like  this,  you  rascal  ? " 

"  I  had  plenty  of  chances  with  the  model,"  said 
the  Back  slyly;  then  he  sighed.  "If  I  had  got 
the  prize  I  would  have  been  sent  to  the  Academy ; 
I  can't  go  without.  And  I'm  sure  it  is  very 
original ! " 

"  Tie  up  your  portfolio,  quick  !  "  said  the  Button 
Boy.  His  face  was  working.  His  eyes  shone  ! 
They  outshone  his  buttons  seven  dozen  times. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  you  foolish  fellow," 
cried  the  Uncle,  "  run  with  it  ?  It  will  take  the 


154  THE  BUTTON  BOY- 

prize  from  under  your  very  nose  and  make  a  show 
of  you,  too." 

"  Will  you  trust  me  ? "  asked  the  Button  Boy  of 
the  Back,  not  minding  his  Uncle.  "  You  know  I've 
often  said  I  owed  you  one,  but  I  don't  mean  it." 

"  O  Buttons  !  "  cried  the  Back,  "  will  you  ?  will 
you  really  do  it  ? " 

"  There,  Uncle,"  cried  the  Button  Boy  stripping 
off  his  jacket,  "  I  can't  run  in  that  tight  thing. 
And  if  you  choose  to  count  this,  you  may.  I  give 
up  the  money,  sir." 

In  vain  the  Uncle  shouted  after  him,  "You 
young  rascal !  I'll  be  done  with  you ;  what  an 
exhibition  you'll  make  now;"  away  he  ran,  fleet 
as  a  deer.  Then  the  Uncle  clapped  his  hands 
vociferously,  burst  out  with  —  "I  knew  there  was 
something  in  that  lad  !  "  chuckled  till  he  was  pur- 
ple in  the  face,  and  finally  sat  down  by  the  Back 
and  blew  his  nose  very  hard. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  Uncle  to  the  Button  Boy 
that  evening,  "  I  had  a  purpose  in  putting  you  in 
this  livery.  You  may  guess,  if  you  like,  what  it  was 
and  I  think  it  hasn't  been  a  failure.  Now,  if  you 


THE   BUTTON    BOY.  155 

will  go  home  with  me  for  the  rest  of  the  year  we  will 
hold  to  the  contract  and  suspend  the  buttons." 

"  Really,"  said  the  Mother,  with  her  mild  smile, 
"  already,  Brother,  I  don't  recognize  my  Boy ;  and 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  —  " 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid,"  interrupted  the  Father, 
busily,  "  you  will  let  his  mind  vegetate ;  he  is  cer- 
tainly not  as  thoroughly  intellectual  as  before  he 
wore  those  buttons.  I  should  like  to  ask  you  —  " 

"  My  dear  Uncle,"  broke  in  the  Sharp-eyed 
Sister,  "if  you  will  please  invent  some  kind  of 
head-gear  for  the  brains  as  good  as  this  for  the 
heart,  I  —  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Elder  Brother  hastily,  "  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  —  " 

But  the  Uncle  was  seized  with  such  a  severe 
sneezing  fit  that  no  one  could  ask  him  after  all. 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

AMONG  the  flock  of  geese  that  toddled  in  and 
out  of  Farmer  Hardy's  barnyard  last  winter, 
hissing  in  protest  at  the  ice  which  covered  the 
pond  so  that  there  was  no  chance  of  a  swimming 
match,  was  one  remarkable  neither  for  its  beauty, 
nor  its  grace.  This  particular  goose  was  gray,  and 
was  looked  upon  with  no  especial  favor  by  Mrs. 
Hardy,  who  had  great  pride  in  all  the  flock  but  the 
gray  one. 

When  it  was  a  little,  fluffy,  drab-colored  gosling, 
one  of  the  sheep  had  stepped  on  it,  crushing  out 
its  life  so  nearly  that  Mrs.  Hardy  had  no  idea  it 
would  ever  recover,  but  Dan  begged  for  its  life. 
He  felt  sure  he  could  set  the  broken  leg,  and  he 
pleaded  so  hard  that  his  mother  finally  allowed 
him  to  make  the  attempt. 

And  he  did  succeed.     The  gosling  was  naturally 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  157 

a  strong  little  thing,  and,  thanks  to  Dan's  nursing, 
was  soon  able  to  limp  around  the  shed  that  had 
been  converted  into  an  hospital.  One  of  its  legs 
was  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  inch  shorter  than  the 
other ;  but  the  little  fellow  increased  in  strength 
as  rapidly  as  he  did  in  size,  and  seemed  to  consider 
Dan  as  his  owner  and  especial  proctector. 

Like  Mary's  lamb,  it  followed  Dan  about  when- 
ever the  opportunity  offered,  until  "  Crippy  "  — 
which  was  the  name  Dan  had  given  it  —  was  known 
in  the  village  quite  as  well  as  the  boy  was. 

Many  were  the  long  walks,  confidential  chats, 
when  the  boy  talked  and  the  goose  cackled,  that 
Dan  and  Crippy  had,  and  when  the  preparations 
for  the  Thanksgiving  festival  were  begun,  the  gray 
goose  was  decidedly  the  fattest  in  the  flock.  Dan 
had  always  given  Crippy  a  share  of  his  luncheon, 
or  had  supplied  for  him  a  separate  and  private  al- 
lowance of  corn,  and  by  this  very  care  of  his  pet 
did  he  get  into  serious  trouble. 

"  Dan's  goose  is  the  largest  and  the  fattest,  and 
I  think  we  had  better  kill  him  for  the  Thanksgiv- 
ing dinner,"  Dan  heard  his  father  say  three  days 


158  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

before  Thanksgiving ;   and  Mrs.  Hardy  replied : 

"  I  had  thought  of  that ;  gray  feathers  never 
bring  as  much  money  as  white  ones,  and  the  goose 
is  terribly  in  the  way ;  he  is  always  in  the  house, 
and  always  directly  under  foot." 

Dan  could  hardly  believe  his  own  ears.  The 
thought  of  killing  and  eating  Crippy  seemed  wicked. 
Why,  he  would  as  soon  have  thought  his  parents 
would  serve  him  up  for  dinner,  as  Crippy,  and  as 
for  eating  any  of  his  pet,  it  would,  to  his  mind,  be 
little  short  of  cannabalism. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  so  wicked  as  to  kill  Crippy, 
would  you,  mother  ?  "  he  asked,  while  the  big  tears 
came  into  his  eyes,  almost  spilling  over  the  lashes. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Mrs.  Hardy  was  so  busily  engaged 
in  her  work  of  making  mince  pies  that  she  did  not 
notice  the  sorrow  on  Dan's  face.  "  Why  not  ? 
He's  only  a  goose,  and  gray.  We've  got  to  have 
one,  and  Crip  is  the  fattest." 

"  But  mother,  I  couldn't  have  poor  Crippy  killed. 
He  an'  I  do  love  each  other  so  much." 

"Now  don't  be  foolish  about  a  goose,  Danny. 
Come  help  me  stem  these  raisins." 


DAN  HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  159 

Dan  said  nothing  more,  for  he  knew  by  the  way 
she  had  spoken  that  his  mother  had  fully  made  up 
her  mind  and  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  in- 
duce her  to  change  her  cruel  plans.  He  stemmed 
the  raisins  as  she  had  requested ;  but  he  worked 
as  quickly  as  possible,  and  when  the  task  was  done 
he  ran  out  to  the  barn. 

When  the  gray  goose  toddled  toward  him  im- 
mediately he  opened  the  barn-door,  cackling  and 
hissing  with  delight  at  seeing  his  young  master, 
the  tears  which  Dan  had  managed  to  keep  back, 
came  at  last,  and,  with  the  goose  in  his  arms,  he 
seated  himself  on  the  barn  floor  with  a  feeling  in 
his  heart  that  he  and  Crippy  were  the  two  most 
unhappy  and  abused  fellows  in  the  world. 

"  O  Crippy !  they  say  they're  goin'  to  kill  you, 
an'  I'd  a  heap  sooner  they'd  kill  me  !  What  shall 
we  do,  Crippy  ? " 

The  goose  made.no  reply  ;  he  was  perfectly  con- 
tent to  nestle  down  in  Dan's  arms,  and,  so  far  as 
he  could  see,  he  and  his  master  were  in  remark- 
ably comfortable  quarters. 

Much  as  the  goose  had  been  petted  by  Dan,  the 


160  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

affection  bestowed  upon  him  just  then  seemed  to 
surprise  him,  and  while  the  boy  was  still  crying 
over  him,  he  struggled  until  he  got  away,  when 
he  limped  over  to  the  corn-bin  as  a  gentle  re- 
minder that  grain  would  please  him  far  better  than 
tears. 

During  that  day  and  the  next  Dan  spent  his 
time  alternately  begging  for  Crippy's  life  and  pet- 
ting him  ;  but  all  to  no  purpose,  so  far  as  inducing 
his  mother  to  change  her  mind  was  concerned. 
On  the  following  morning  the  gray  goose  was  to 
be  killed,  and  Dan  could  see  no  way  to  save  him. 

That  afternoon  he  spent  the  greater  portion  of 
his  time  with  the  doomed  Crippy,  crying  and  talk- 
ing until  all  the  fowls  must  have  wondered  what 
the  matter  was,  for,  there  being  no  almanac  in  the 
barn,  of  course  they  could  have  no  idea  Thanks- 
giving was  so  near.  Suddenly  Dan  thought  of  a 
plan  by  which  Crippy  might  be  saved.  It  was  a 
desperate  one,  and  almost  frightened  him  as  he 
thought  it  over ;  but  with  his  pet's  life  in  the  bal- 
ance he  could  not  hesitate  at  anything. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Crippy,"  he  said  as 


DAN  HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  161 

he  succeeded  in  making  the  goose  remain  quietly 
in  his  arms  by  feeding  him  with  corn.  "  Uncle 
Robert  lives  in  New  York,  an'  he's  awful  good.  I 
know  if  we  could  find  him  he  could  save  you.  Now 
I'll  get  up  in  Jhe  night,  an'  come  out  here  for  you. 
It's  only  seven  miles,  an'  I'm  most  sure  we  could 
walk  there  in  a  day.  Then  if  he  won't  come  out 
here  to  see  mother,  Thanksgiving  will  be  gone,  an' 
they  can't  have  you  for  dinner." 

Crippy  swallowed  the  corn  greedily,  and  Dan 
looked  upon  this  as  a  sign  that  he  not  only  under- 
stood what  had  been  said,  but  was  eating  an  un- 
usually hearty  meal  by  way  of  preparation  for  the 
journey. 

Under  any  less  desperate  circumstances  Dan 
could  not  have  been  persuaded  to  go  away  from 
home  for  an  hour  without  asking  his  mother's  per- 
mission, and  even  as  he  was  situated  then,  he  felt 
that  he  was  about  to  do  something  which  was  al- 
most wicked.  But  since  he  could  save  Crippy's 
life  in  no  other  way,  what  could  he  do  ?  He  al- 
most felt  as  if  by  taking  the  goose  away  he  was 
preventing  his  parents  from  committing  a  crime, 


l62 

for  it  could  hardly  be  less  than  one  to  kill  so  in- 
telligent and  loving  a  creature. 

But  though  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that 
what  he  was  doing  was,  under  the  circumstances, 
a  favor  to  his  parents,  there  was  a  big  lump  in  his 
throat  as  he  did  his  work  that  night,  and  realized 
that  in  a  few  hours  neither  his  father  nor  his  mother 
would  know  where  he  was.  He  was  more  than 
usually  careful  about  the  kindling-wood  and  the 
water,  and  when  his  mother  spoke  to  him  so  kindly, 
he  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping  his  secret. 

It  was  only  the  thought  that  he  was  by  no  means 
"  running  away,"  that  prevented  him  from  telling 
his  mother  what  he  intended  to  do.  He  argued 
with  himself  that  he  was  only  going  to  uncle  Rob- 
ert's on  business,  and  that  he  should  return  the 
day  after  he  arrived  there ;  that  would  be  entirely 
different  from  running  away. 

During  the  evening  Dan  worked  hard  at  a  mes- 
sage which  he  was  to  leave  for  his  parents,  feeling 
obliged  to  take  every  precaution  lest  they  should 
see  what  he  was  about,  and,  after  the  most  painful 
efforts  he  succeeded  in  printing  this  note  : 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  163 

CRIP  &  ME  HAVE  GORNE  TO  UNKLE  ROB- 
ERTS  TO  GET  HIM  TO  COME  UP  HERE  TO 
KOAX  YOU  NOT  TO  KILL  CRIP.  WE  WILL 
COME  RIGHT  BACK. 

DANIEL  K.  HARDY. 

Dan  had  six  cents  which  he  had  earned  carrying 
milk,  and  his  preparations  for  the  journey  consisted 
simply  in  putting  these  in  his  pocket,  together  with 
some  corn  for  Crippy,  and  in  placing  the  little 
clock  and  some  matches  by  the  side  of  his  bed,  so 
that  he  might  be  able  to  tell  when  the  proper  time 
had  come  for  him  to  start. 

Perhaps  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardy  were  surprised  by 
Dan's  unusually  affectionate  manner  when  he  bade 
them  good-night ;  but  if  they  were,  nothing  was 
said  about  it,  and  the  inmates  of  the  Hardy  farm- 
house retired  on  the  night  before  the  proposed  ex- 
ecution of  poor  Crippy  at  the  usual  early  hour  of 
nine  o'clock. 

Dan's  idea  was  to  lie  awake  until  three  in  the 
morning,  then  steal  cautiously  out  of  the  house, 
get  Crippy,  and  start.  But  it  was  much  harder 
work  to  remain  awake  than  he  had  fancied,  and  be- 


164  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

fore  he  had  been  in  bed  an  hour  he  was  sleeping 
soundly. 

But  even  though  his  eyes  persisted  in  closing 
despite  his  will,  Dan  did  not  sleep  very  long  at  a 
time.  He  was  awake  at  least  every  half-hour,  and 
his  small  stock  of  matches  was  exhausted  as  early 
as  two  o'clock.  With  no  means  of  procuring  a 
light,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  know  when 
the  time  had  come,  and,  since  he  did  not  dare  to 
go  to  sleep  again,  he  concluded  it  would  be  better 
to  set  out  at  once  than  run  the  risk  of  delaying 
until  his  father  should  awaken. 

During  the  time  he  was  making  very  awkward 
attempts  to  dress  himself  in  the  darkness,  his  rin- 
gers trembling  violently  both  from  fear  and  the 
cold,  he  fancied  each  moment  that  he  could  hear 
his  parents  moving  around,  as  if  they  had  sus- 
pected his  purpose,  and  were  on  the  alert  to  pre- 
vent him  from  carrying  it  into  execution.  It  seemed 
too,  as  if  each  particular  board  in  the  floor  creaked 
in  protest  at  what  he  was  doing,  and  to  give  the 
alarm. 

The  note  which  was  to  inform  his  parents  of 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  165 

where  he  had  gone,  was  placed  conspicuously  on 
the  chair  by  the  bed,  where  his  mother  could  not 
fail  to  see  it  when  she  came  to  awaken  him,  and 
when  that  was  done  his  journey  seemed  more  like 
some  demand  of  business,  and  less  like  disobedi- 
ence to  what  he  knew  his  parents'  commands 
would  be. 

He  did  finally  succeed  in  dressing  himself,  al- 
though his  jacket  was  buttoned  in  a  very  curious 
fashion  ;  and  then,  with  his  shoes  and  mittens  in 
his  hands,  he  started  down  stairs.  If  the  boards 
of  the  floor  had  tried  to  arouse  his  parents,  the 
stairs  appeared  bent  on  awakening  the  entire 
household  —  although  he  did  his  best  to  put  as  lit- 
tle weight  as  possible  upon  them,  they  creaked  and 
screamed  in  a  most  alarming  fashion. 

It  seemed  strange  to  him  that  his  parents  could 
sleep  while  so  much  noise  was  being  made  ;  but 
when  he  finally  succeeded  in  closing  the  outside 
door  behind  him,  there  had  been  no  sign  made  to 
show  that  his  departure  was  known. 

Dan  was  so  nervous  and  excited  that  he  hardly 
felt  the  frost  when  he  stepped  with  stockinged  feet 


1 66  DAN  HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

upon  the  snow  ;  but  instinct  prompted  him  to  put 
on  his  boots  and  mittens,  and  it  only  remained  to 
get  Crippy  and  start. 

He  almost  expected  that  the  goose  would  be 
waiting  for  him  at  the  stable  door  when  he  opened 
it;  but,  since  he  knew  he  should  find  his  pet  in 
the  warm  box  he  had  made  for  him,  he  was  not 
greatly  disappointed  at  not  seeing  him  ready  for 
the  journey.  Besides,  he  had  come  an  hour  before 
he  told  Crippy  he  would  be  there,  which  was  suf- 
ficient reason  why  the  goose  was  not  ready  and 
anxious  to  start. 

After  groping  his  way  around  the  barn  to  the 
corner  in  which  was  Crippy's  sleeping  apartment, 
Dan  was  considerably  surprised  because  the  goose 
was  so  very  careless,  both  in  regard  to  his  safety, 
and  the  possibility  of  arousing  the  household.  He 
cackled  and  hissed  when  Dan  took  him  from  the 
box,  as  if  he  preferred  to  be  killed  and  served  up 
for  the  Thanksgiving  dinner  rather  than  go  out  of 
doors  so  early  on  a  cold  morning. 

Dan  whispered  that  he  knew  it  was  hard  to  be 
obliged  to  start  so  early,  but  that  they  must  do  so, 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  167 

and  the  more  he  explained  matters  the  harder  the 
goose  struggled,  until  it  seemed  much  as  if  the 
attempt  to  save  Crippy's  life  would  be  a  dismal 
failure. 

"  I'm  doin'  this  so's  you  won't  have  to  be  killed, 
Crippy,"  whispered  Dan  as  he  held  the  goose 
tightly  clasped  in  his  arms,  "  an'  it  does  seem's  if 
you  might  help  a  feller  instead  of  tryin'  to  wake  up 
father  an'  mother." 

Perhaps  Crippy  was  weary  with  struggling  — 
Dan  thought  he  began  to  realize  his  position  —  for 
he  ceased  all  protests  after  his  master's  last  appeal, 
and,  with  his  head  tucked  under  Dan's  coat,  sub- 
mitted quietly  to  the  rescue. 

If  he  had  not  repeated  to  himself  so  many  times 
that  he  was  not  running  away  from  home,  but 
simply  going  to  uncle  Robert's  to  save  poor 
Crippy's  life,  Dan  would  have  felt  that  he  was  do- 
ing something  wrong  because  of  the  warning  cries 
uttered  by  everything  around.  The  stable  door, 
when  he  tried  to  close  it  softly,  shut  with  a  spiteful 
clatter,  and  even  the  snow  gave  forth  a  sharp, 
crunching  sound  such  as  he  had  never  heard  be- 


1 68  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

fore.  But  he  must  keep  on,  for  to  remain  would 
be  to  see  the  plump,  brown  body  of  poor  Crippy 
on  the  Thanksgiving  dinner  table,  while  to  go  on 
would  be,  at  the  worst,  but  a  few  hours'  discomfort, 
with  Crip's  life  as  the  reward. 

Once  they  were  out  of  doors  Crippy  behaved 
much  as  if  he  had  suddenly  realized  how  important 
it  was  for  him  to  get  away  from  the  Hardy  farm,  and 
Dan  had  no  trouble  with  him  while  he  was  passing 
the  house. 

There  seemed  to  be  an  unnatural  stillness  every- 
where, amid  which  the  crunching  of  the  dry  snow 
sounded  with  a  distinctness  that  almost  frightened 
the  boy  who  was  simply  going  to  his  uncle  Rob- 
ert's to  spend  a  day  or  two.  But  finally  Dan  was 
on  the  main  road,  where  the  snow  was  frozen  so 
hard  that  his  footsteps  could  not  be  heard  as  dis- 
tinctly, and  where  the  two  tracks  worn  smooth  by 
the  runners  of  the  sleighs,  lay  spread  out  before 
him,  looking  like  two  satin  ribbons  on  white  broad- 
cloth. 

Dan  trudged  slowly  on,  his  heart  growing  lighter 
as  the  moments  went  by  and  he  knew  he  had 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  1^1 

actually  gotten  away  without  arousing  any  one  ; 
but  after  he  had  walked  some  distance  he  began 
to  realize  how  heavy  Crippy  was.  He  had  thought 
he  could  carry  his  pet  almost  any  length  of  time ; 
but  at  the  very  commencement  of  his  journey  his 
arms  began  to  ache. 

"  It's  no  use,  Crippy,  you'll  have  to  walk  some 
of  the  way,"  he  said  as  he  put  the  goose  on  the 
snow,  and  then  started  off  to  show  him  he  must 
follow.  Now  a  moonlight  promenade  on  the  snow, 
in  the  morning,  with  the  thermometer  several  de- 
grees below  zero,  was  not  at  all  to  Crip's  liking, 
and  he  scolded  most  furiously  in  his  goose  dialect, 
but  he  took  good  care  to  run  after  his  master  at 
the  same  time. 

As  Mrs.  Hardy  had  said,  Crippy  was  very  fat,  and 
when  he  toddled  on  at  full  speed  he  could  only  get 
along  about  half  as  fast  as  his  master,  so  that 
Dan's  journey  was  made  up  with  alternately  trudg- 
ing over  the  frozen  road,  and  waiting  for  his  pet 
to  overtake  him. 

And  soon  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  change 
even  in  this  slow  way  of  travelling,  for  before 


172  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

Crippy  had  been  half  an  hour  on  the  road  he  be- 
gan to  evince  the  most  decided  aversion  to  walking, 
and  it  became  necessary  for  Dan  to  take  him  in 
his  arms  again.  On  he  walked,  carrying  Crippy 
the  greater  portion  of  the  time,  and  coaxing  him 
along  when  it  became  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  give  his  aching  arms  a  little  relief,  until  the  sun 
came  up  over  the  hills,  and  he  could  see  the  great 
city  but  a  short  distance  ahead  of  him. 

During  all  this  time  he  had  not  stopped  once  to 
rest ;  but  now,  since  he  was  so  near  his  destination, 
at  such  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  he  sat  down 
in  the  snow  and  began  to  arrange  with  the  discon* 
tented  Crippy  as  to  how  they  might  best  find  uncle 
Robert,  for  Dan  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of 
where  his  relative  lived. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Crip,"  he  said  as  he 
gave  the  goose  a  handful  of  corn,  contenting  him- 
self with  half  a  biscuit  he  had  taken  from  the  sup- 
per-table  the  night  previous.  "We'll  walk  right 
along  till  we  see  uncle  Robert,  or  some  of  the  folks. 
It's  the  day  before  Thanksgiving,  you  know,  an* 
some  of  'em  will  be  sure  to  be  out  buying  things." 


DAN     HARDY'S    CRIPPY. 


'73 


Crippy  had  finished  eating  the  corn  as  his  master 
ceased  speaking,  and  he  looked  up  sideways  into 
Dan's  face  much  as  if  he  doubted  the  success  of 
their  plan  if  carried  out  in  that  manner. 

"  Well,  if  we  don't  find  him  that  way,  we'll  ask 
some  of  the  boys,  an' they'll  be  sure  to  know,"  said 
Dan,  replying  as  earnestly  to  Crippy's  look  as  if 
his  pet  had  spoken. 

Then  the  weary  journey  was  resumed,  much  to 
Crippy's  displeasure,  even  though  he  was  carried 
comfortably  in  Dan's  arms,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  were  reached  that  the  goose  was 
requested  to  walk.  There  the  pavements  were 
free  from  snow,  and  Crippy  could  move  along  much 
faster  than  on  the  icy  road ;  but  yet  his  progress 
was  far  from  satisfactory. 

The  great  number  of  people,  all  of  whom  re- 
garded the  boy  and  the  goose  curiously,  bewildered 
both  the  travellers.  More  than  once,  when  Dan 
was  sure  Crippy  was  close  at  his  heels,  on  looking 
around  he  would  see  the  goose  standing  on  one 
foot  near  the  curbstone,  looking  sideways  at  the 
street  much  as  if  trying  to  decide  whether  he  would 


continue  to  follow  his  master,  or  toddle  back  home 
as  fast  as  his  legs  of  unequal  length  would  carry 
him. 

"  O  come  on,  Crippy,"  Dan  said  in  a  tone  that 
showed  plainly  how  tired  and  discouraged  he  was. 
"  We  sha'n't  ever  find  uncle  Robert  this  way,  an' 
if  a  strange  dog  comes  along  where  will  you  be  ? " 

It  seemed  very  much  as  if  Crippy  had  not  real- 
ized that  he  might  chance  to  meet  a  dog,  until  Dan 
spoke  of  it,  for  then  he  ran  hurriedly  on  as  if  he 
fully  understood  the  danger  that  might  come  to  him 
by  loitering  on  the  way. 

But  there  were  other  enemies  besides  dogs,  which 
Crippy  was  to  meet  with,  as  he  and  Dan  learned 
when  they  reached  the  more  densely  populated 
portions  of  the  city,  and  those  enemies  were  boys. 

Dan  was  walking  slowly  on,  looking  first  at  the 
houses  in  the  hope  of  seeing  some  of  his  uncle's 
family,  and  then  at  Crippy,  to  make  sure  he  was 
following,  when  half  a  dozen  boys,  who  had  been 
watching  the  singular  pair  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street,  made  a  sudden  dash  at  the  goose. 

The  first  intimation  Dan  had  that  his  pet  was  in 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  175 

danger,  was  when  he  heard  the  shouts  of  the  boys, 
followed  by  Crippy's  angry  hiss,  and  the  flapping 
of  his  wings.  Quickly  turning,  Dan  saw  the  goose 
closely  pressed  by  the  boys,  all  of  whom  were  try- 
ing to  catch  him,  and  some  of  whom  already  had 
one  or  more  feathers  as  trophies. 

It  did  not  take  Dan  many  moments  to  catch  his 
pet  up  in  his  arms,  and  then  he  stood  ready  to  do 
battle  for  the  goose,  while  the  city  boys  advanced 
towards  him  threateningly. 

There  could  have  been  but  one  result  to  such  a 
battle,  where  six  boys  attacked  one  who  was  ham- 
pered in  his  movements  by  the  goose,  and  some 
serious  injury  might  have  been  done  to  both  Dan 
and  Crippy,  had  not  a  policeman  come  from  around 
the  corner  just  at  that  instant.  Dan's  assailants 
fled  at  the  sight  of  the  officer,  and  the  country  boy 
with  his  heavy,  noisy  burden  continued  on  his 
journey. 

There  was  no  further  interruption  for  nearly  an 
hcur;  for  when  Dan  carried  the  goose  in  his  arms 
he  was  by  no  means  the  object  of  curiosity  he  was 
with  Crippy  following  him.  At  the  expiration  of 


176  DAN    HARDY'S    CRIPPY. 

that  time  it  dawned  upon  him  that  in  a  place  as 
large  as  New  York  it  was  useless  for  him  to  walk 
around  in  the  hope  of  meeting  his  uncle,  or  any  of 
his  family. 

"  I  declare,  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Crippy,"  he 
said  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  doorstep  with  the 
goose  by  his  side,  and  looked  mournfully  up  and 
down  the  street.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  hadn't 
been  more'n  half-way  round  the  city  in  all  this 
time,  an'  yet  we  hain't  seen  any  of  uncle  Robert's 
folks.  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

Crippy  made  no  reply  to  the  question ;  but  a  boy 
about  Dan's  size,  who  was  looking  wonderingly  at 
the  goose  as  he  stood  on  his  shortest  leg  in  a 
mournful  way  spoke  : 

"  Wot  is  it  yer  don't  know  wot  ter  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  find  my  uncle  Robert. 
Crippy  an'  me  come  down  to  see  him,  an'  now  we 
can't  find  his  house." 

"  Do  you  call  him  Crippy  ?  "  asked  the  boy  as  he 
nodded  toward  the  goose. 

"  Yas,  he's  Crippy  Hardy.  Mother  was  goin'  to 
kill  him  for  dinner  to-morrer,  so  we  come  down 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  177 

here  to  get  uncle  Robert  to  go  up  an'  see  about  it," 

"  How  far  have  you  come  ?  " 

"  Seven  miles." 

"  Did  you  walk  ?  " 

"  Every  step." 

"  Well,"  said  the  boy  as  he  looked  at  Crippy  in 
a  critical  way,  "  it  seems  to  me  that's  a  mighty 
mean  kind  of  a  goose  ter  walk  so  far  fur.  He  hain't 
handsome  no  ways,  an'  I  think  he'd  look  a  good 
deal  better  on  ther  table  roasted,  than  he  does  out 
here  on  ther  street." 

Up  to  that  moment  Dan  had  been  disposed  to 
trust  this  boy  who  was  so  friendly  ;  but  when  he 
spoke  so  slightingly  of  Crippy,  he  was  disappointed 
in  him. 

"  You  don't  know  Crippy,  or  you  wouldn't  say 
that,"  replied  Dan  gravely.  "  I  would  walk  seven- 
teen times  as  far  if  it  would  keep  him  from  gettin' 
killed." 

"Well,  I  tell  yer  wot  it  is,"  and  the  boy  spoke 
like  one  thoroughly  conversant  with  geese  and 
their  ways,  "  he's  got  ter  be  a  good  deal  better'n  he 
looks  ter  'mount  to  anything," 


178  DAN     HARDY'S    CRIPPY. 

4<  An'  he  is,"  replied  Dan;  and  then  he  gave  the 
stranger  a  full  account  of  Crippy's  sagacity  and 
wisdom,  with  such  success  that  when  he  had  fin- 
ished the  goose  evidently  stood  high  in  the  city 
boy's  estimation. 

"  He's  prob'ly  a  mighty  nice  kind  of  a  goose," 
said  the  boy ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me  if  I  had  a  pet  I'd 
want  one  that  could  sleep  with  me,  an'  you  know 
you  couldn't  take  this  goose  to  bed." 

"  I  could  if  mother  would  let  me,  an'  I  don't  see 
why  she  won't,  for  I  know  Crippy  would  just  snug- 
gle right  down  as  good  as  anybody  could." 

For  some  time  the  two  discussed  the  question  of 
pets  in  general,  and  Crippy  in  particular,  then  the 
city  boy  remembered  his  mother  sent  him  on  an  er- 
rand which  should  have  been  done  an  hour  before. 

Dan  felt  more  lonely  than  ever  after  this  new- 
made  friend  had  gone,  and,  with  Crippy  in  his 
arms,  he  started  wearily  out  in  search  of  uncle 
Robert,  hardly  knowing  where  he  was  going.  In 
his  bewilderment  he  had  walked  entirely  around 
the  same  block  four  times,  and  an  observant  police- 
man asked  him  where  he  was  going. 


DAN     HARDY  S    CRIPPY. 


179 


Under  the  circumstances  Dan  did  not  require 
much  urging  to  induce  him  to  tell  the  man  his 
story. 

"  Do  you  know  your  uncle's  name  ? "  asked  the 
officer. 

"Uncle  Robert  Hardy." 

"What  is  his  business — I  mean,  what  kind  of 
work  does  he  do  ?  " 

"  He  keeps  store." 

The  officer  led  Dan  to  the  nearest  drug  store, 
and  there,  after  consulting  the  directory,  told  him 
there  were  several  Robert  Hardys  mentioned,  at 
the  same  time  giving  him  a  list  of  the  names. 

Dan  took  the  paper  with  the  written  directions 
upon  it,  feeling  more  completely  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  to  proceed  than  he  had  before,  and  it  was  in 
a  dazed  way  that  he  listened  to  the  instructions  as 
to  how  he  should  find  the  nearest  Hardy. 

But  he  started  bravely  off,  still  carrying  Crippy, 
who  seemed  to  have  doubled  in  weight,  and  when 
he  had  walked  half  an  hour  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  by  the  policeman,  he  appeared  to  be  no  nearer 
his  destination  than  when  he  started. 


i So  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

"  What  can  we  do,  Crippy  ? "  he  cried,  as  again 
he  took  refuge  on  a  doorstep,  weary,  hungry  and 
foot-sore.  He  had  seen  no  opportunity  to  buy  a 
breakfast  with  his  six  cents;  it  was  then  long  past 
his  usual  time  for  dinner,  and  his  hunger  did  not 
tend  to  make  him  more  cheerful. 

The  goose  was  as  unable  to  answer  this  question 
as  he  had  been  the  ones  Dan  had  previously  asked, 
and  the  only  reply  he  made  was  a  loud  cackling, 
which,  in  his  language,  signified  that  he  thought  it 
quite  time  that  he  had  some  dinner. 

By  this  time,  and  Dan  had  not  been  on  the  door- 
step more  than  five  minutes,  a  crowd  of  boys  gath- 
ered around,  all  disposed  to  make  sport  of  the 
goose,  and  to  annoy  the  boy. 

"  Say,  country,  why  don't  you  sell  your  goose  ? " 

"Where  did  the  bird  find  you  ? " 

"  Does  yer  mother  know  you're  so  far  away  from 
home  ? " 

These  and  other  equally  annoying  questions  Dan 
listened  to  until  he  could  no  longer  control  him- 
self, and  he  cried  to  his  tormentors  : 

"See  here,   boys,   if   you  had  somethin'  you 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  181 

thought  a  good  deal  of,  an'  it  was  goin'  to  be  killed 
an'  roasted  for  dinner,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

The  boys  were  too  much  surprised  by  the  ques- 
tion to  reply,  and  Dan  continued  earnestly : 

"  This  goose  is  Crippy,  an'  I've  had  him  ever 
since  he  was  a  baby,  an'  got  his  leg  broke.  We 
come  in  here  to  find  uncle  Robert  so's  he  could  tell 
mother  not  to  kill  poor  Crip,  an'  now  we  can't  find 
him,  an'  —  an'  —  well,  we're  jest  two  as  lonesome 
fellers  as  you  ever  saw,  an'  if  you  knew  jest  how  we 
did  feel  you  wouldn't  stand  there  pokin'  fun  at 
us." 

For  a  moment  none  of  Dan's  tormentors  spoke, 
and  then  the  tallest  one  said  sympathetically,  as  he 
seated  himself  by  the  country  boy's  side  to  show 
that  he  took  both  the  boy  and  the  goose  under  his 
protecting  arm  : 

"  They  sha'n't  plague  you  any  more,  an'  ef  I'd 
'a'  known  how  you  was  feelin'  I  wouldn't  'a'  said 
a  word.  Now  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Dan  was  in  that  frame  of  mind  where  he  needed 
sympathy,  and -he  told  the  whole  story,  while  the 
entire  party  stood  around,  interrupting  him  now 


182 

and  then  by  exclamations  of  surprise  that  his  par- 
ents should  have  been  so  cruel  as  to  even  think  of 
killing  that  faithful  Crippy. 

This  consolation,  even  though  it  did  Dan  no 
material  good,  was  very  sweet  to  him,  and  he  would 
have  continued  to  sing  the  praise  of  his  pet,  had 
not  one  of  the  boys  proposed  that  an  effort  be  made 
to  find  uncle  Robert's  house.  Then  each  one  had 
a  different  plan  to  propose,  none  of  them  thinking 
that  at  that  hour  —  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  — 
it  might  be  an  act  of  charity  first  to  give  Dan  and 
Crippy  something  to  eat. 

It  surely  seemed  as  if  this  discussion  as  to  how 
the  search  should  be  begun  would  continue  until  it 
would  be  too  late  to  do  anything,  and  while  each 
one  was  stoutly  maintaining  that  his  plan  was  the 
best,  art  old-fashioned  sleigh  drawn  by  a  clumsy- 
looking  horse,  stopped  directly  opposite  where  the 
boys  were  holding  their  conference. 

"  Why,  father  !  "  cried  Dan  as  he  saw  the  occu- 
pant of  the  sleigh,  and  at  the  same  time  he  hugged 
Crippy  close  to  him  as  if  he  believed  his  father 
had  come  for  the  goose. 


DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY.  183 

"  Well,  Dan,  you  did  find  your  uncle  Robert  after 
all,  didn't  you  ? "  asked  Mr.  Hardy  as  he  alighted, 
covered  old  Dobbin  carefully  with  the  robe,  and 
then  went  to  where  Dan  was  sitting,  already  de- 
serted by  his  new-made  friends,  who  feared  Mr. 
Hardy  was  about  to  inflict  some  signal  punishment. 

"  No  sir,  I  didn't  find  him,"  faltered  Dan,  won- 
dering what  his  father  would  do  to  him  and  Crippy. 

"  Why,  haven't  you  been  in  yet  ? " 

"  In  where  ?  "  asked  Dan  in  surprise. 

"  In  here,  of  course  ;  this  is  where  your  uncle 
Robert  lives,"  and  Mr.  Hardy  pointed  to  the  house 
on  the  steps  of  which  Dan  had  been  sitting. 

To  his  great  surprise  Dan  learned  that  he  had 
followed  the  policeman's  directions  exactly;  but, 
not  knowing  it,  had  neglected  to  look  on  the  house- 
doors  for  his  uncle's  name. 

In  a  few  moments  more  he  and  his  father  were 
in  the  house,  while  Crippy  was  in  the  kitchen 
actually  gorging  himself  with  food. 

When  Mr.  Hardy  found  the  note  Dan  had  left, 
he  was  not  at  all  worried  about  his  son's  safety ; 
but  when,  later  in  the  day,  he  had  leisure,  he 


184  DAN   HARDY'S  CRIPPY. 

started  to  the  city  for  the  travellers,  and,  driving 
directly  to  his  brother's  house,  found  them  as  has 
been  seen. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  after  all  this  labor 
on  Dan's  part  to  save  his  pet,  Mr.  Hardy  readily 
promised  that  Crippy  should  be  allowed  to  die  of 
old  age,  instead  of  being  killed  and  roasted,  and 
Dan,  with  Crippy  hugged  very  close  to  him,  started 
for  home  with  his  father,  sure  that  no  boy  in  all 
the  wide  world  would  spend  a  merrier  Thanksgiving 
than  he. 

Crippy  was  also  happy  on  that  day,  if  food  could 
make  him  so,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that,  if  he  sur- 
vives the  wonderfully  big  dinner  Dan  proposes  to 
give  him  this  year,  he  will  live  to  a  green  old  age. 


HIS  THREE  TRIALS, 
i. 

AS   CARPENTER   AND   CHEMIST. 

FOR  three  years  Hal  had  been  trying  to  decide 
what  should  be  his  business  in  life ;  and 
now  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  in  his  last  school 
year,  he  was  as  far  as  ever  from  any  fixed  plan. 
A  profession,  he  argued,  required  too  much  study ; 
a  trade  meant  ten  hours  a  day  of  hard  labor;  he 
was  too  old  for  an  office-boy ;  and  he  had  no 
capital  to  put  into  business.  Well,  if  he  could 
only  even  find  out  now  for  what  he  was  fitted,  it 
would  save  time  in  the  end. 

"  How  do  people  ever  sit  still  and  think  !  "  he 
exclaimed  aloud.  "  I'll  go  over  and  consult  Ned." 

Ned  was  two  years  his  senior.  He  had  started 
in  life  with  the  idea  of  being  a  doctor,  and  had 
kept  to  it.  Consequently  he  had  little  sympathy 


l86  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

with  Hal's  vagaries,  and  often  chided  him  for 
his  lack  of  definite  purpose.  But  as  Hal's  well- 
known  warwhoop  sounded  under  the  window,  he 
came  out  on  his  steps. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  look  as  black 
as  a  thunder  cloud." 

"  Father  says  I've  got  to  make  up  my  mind  what 
to  do,  and  that  if  I  don't  he'll  do  it  for  me,"  an- 
swered Hal  laconically,  "  and  that  might  not  suit, 
you  know." 

"  I  told  you  it  would  come  to  that  if  you  did  not 
look  sharp,"  answered  Ned.  "  Take  my  advice  now. 
A  boy  like  you  better  begin  with  a  trade  and  work 
up  to  be  boss  mechanic  ;  then  when  you  are  rich, 
buy  a  library  and  turn  scholar.  There's  a  swell 
carpenter's  school  just  started  down  at  the  Institute, 
box  and  tools  included  in  the  tuition,  so  you'll 
have  some  property  at  the  end  of  the  term,  if  you 
haven't  ideas." 

"  I  had  thought  of  being  a  physicist,  or  chemist," 
replied  Hal ;  "  but  carpentering  is  really  more  in 
my  line  ;  might  try  it  at  least.  Suppose  I  talk  it 
over  at  home." 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  187 

"  You  better,"  said  Ned,  "  than  keep  me  out  here 
bareheaded  ;  good-by  !  " 

"  Much  obliged  and  good-by,"  called  out  Hal,  as 
he  turned  homewards. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  obtain  his  parents'  con- 
sent, as  they  hoped  they  saw  in  this  definite  wish 
an  earnest  of  practical  ability  which  would  help 
them  and  him  to  decide  the  question  of  what  he 
had  better  clo.  He  had  owned  one  or  two  carpen- 
ter's chests  and  had  broken  several  tools,  so  that 
he  knew  something  about  their  use  which  would 
count  in  the  beginning. 

Hal's  pride  suffered,  however,  when  at  the  In- 
stitute he  had  to  learn  how  to  strike  square  blows, 
and  to  practise  the  wrist,  elbow  and  shoulder  move- 
ment, in  striking  with  light  tools.  Then,  too,  he 
had  to  submit  to  be  taught  how  to  drive  nails 
just  so  many  inches  apart,  exactly  as  if  he  had 
never  hammered  before.  He  was  as  indignant, 
also,  at  being  told  to  neither  split  nor  cut  towards 
himself,  as  if  he  had  never  hurt  his  jacket.  , 

At  last  he  was  permitted  to  begin  to  make  a 
picture  frame.  Its  four  sides  had  to  be  glued  and 


1 88  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

dovetailed  together,  and  the  fitting  required  care- 
ful measurements.  As  Hal  was  too  anxious  to  go 
ahead  to  attend  to  details,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
the  sides  would  not  meet.  The  more  he  planed 
and  chiselled,  the  worse  it  grew,  till  in  despair  he 
took  it  home  for  kindling  wood. 
.  Next  he  started  on  a  bevelled-edge  frame,  and 
still  despising  exact  measurements,  he  made  the 
inner  curve  too  deep,  thus  injuring  the  effect  of  his 
design. 

Weary  of  mathematical  carpentering,  he  turned 
to  the  ordinary,  rough  work  of  making  a  miniature 
house  frame.  His  previous  mistakes  had  helped 
him  so  much  that  here  he  soon  went  ahead  of  the 
other  boys ;  but  when  he  reached  the  staircase  he 
began  to  fail.  The  steps  were  not  alike  in  depth, 
nor  were  they  placed  at  the  right  angles ;  he  used 
up  four  blocks  of  wood,  succeeding  on  the  fifth, 
though  the  stairs  were  still  rather  steep. 

His  frame  completed,  he  discovered  that  his  ac- 
quaintances at  the  Institute  had  advanced  to  the 
turning-lathe.  Too  vexed  and  proud  to  go  on  and 
take  up  what  they  were  leaving,  he  went  into  the 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  189 

moulding  room.  All  went  well  at  first ;  the  frame 
was  evenly  placed,  put  together  and  inserted  in 
the  sand-box ;  but  when  he  came  back  two  days 
later  and  lifted  the  upper  half,  the  sand  all  fell  out 
and  spoilt  his  mould  ;  for  he  had  paid  very  little 
attention  to  getting  it  into  the  completely  proper 
condition  for  receiving  an  impression. 

This  final  failure  at  the  Institute  convinced  him 
that  nature  had  not  fitted  him  for  a  carpenter, 
which  knowledge  he  bore  calmly ;  for,  as  he  saicl, 
it  was  a  saving  of  time  to  find  out  what  he  could 
not  be.  In  his  need,  he  turned  again  to  Ned, 
whom  he  had  ignored  during  this  two  months  at  the 
Institute.  Ned  looked  as  if  he  had  expected  him, 
but  could  only  learn  that  "carpentering  had  gone 
up,"  and  that  Hal  would  now  like  to  try  his  first 
idea  and  enter  the  chemical  business,  provided 
that  Ned  would  become  a  partner  and  put  in 
some  stock. 

Ned  demurred  at  first,  but  finally  concluded  it 
might  be  helping  himself,  as  a  doctor,  especially  as 
the  stock  he  had  on  hand  and  the  use  of  his  laundry, 
could  be  considered  an  offset  for  Hal's  capital. 


190  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

"  My  laundry  would  do  just  as  well,"  said  Hal ; 
"you  ought  to  put  in  money." 

"  Oh,  you  had  better  take  my  laundry,"  replied 
Ned.  "  My  mother  does  not  object  to  smells,  for 
she  thinks  chemistry  is  going  to  revolutionize  per- 
fumery. I've  got  some  scales  and  a  spirit-lamp, 
and  we  can  get  bottles  and  tumblers  enough." 

"Yes,  but  you  know  we  must  have  a  round- 
bottomed  receiver,  a  measuring  glass,  crucibles,  re- 
torts and  test-tubes." 

"As  you  seem  to  know  all  about  it,"  replied 
Ned  carelessly,  "you  buy  them  and  come  here 
to-morrow."  Hal  assented  and  they  separated  to 
meet  the  next  afternoon,  when  they  began  with  a 
manual  of  chemistry  as  their  guide.  They  first  dis- 
tilled water ;  and  then  they  analyzed  it  by  boiling  it. 

But  all  this  was  too  safe,  they  wished  to  venture 
upon  something  dangerous  ;  so  they  put  three  drops 
of  nitric  acid  on  a  copper  cent  and  wrote  out  the 
result  thus : 

(i).       i  copper  cent. 

3  drops  Nitric  acid. 
Result :    A  greenish  liquid  —  nitrate  of  copper. 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  19! 

This  formula  was  so  pleasing  that  they  continued 
to  note  down  their  work  somewhat  as  follows  : 

(2).      i  Shell. 

6  drops  nitric  acid. 
Result :     Shell  dissolved. 

(3).       Solution  muriate  of  lime. 

"       Carbonate  of  potassium. 
Result :     Solid. 

From  these  simple  but  important  discoveries 
they  proceeded  to  move  difficult  analyses  and  syn- 
theses. They  made  ammonia  water;  they  com- 
bined weights;  they  experimented  in  acids,  bases 
and  salts  ;  they  produced  explosions  ;  they  almost 
set  the  house  on  fire  with  their  experiments  in 
hydrogen  ;  they  tested  iodine  and  chlorine. 

The  greatest  hindrance  to  their  advancement 
was  the  amount  of  care  required.  They  had  burnt 
holes  in  their  clothes ;  the  laundry  had  became  an 
inconvenient  refuge  for  the  cats  and  dogs  of  the 
house  ;  the  younger  children  could  no  longer  play 
there,  but  broken  glass  should  injure  them  ;  and 
the  maids  dreaded  entering  a  place  where  un- 
looked-for events  were  always  happening. 


192  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

A  crisis  was  at  last  developed  by  the  gift  of  a 
friend  who  sent  them  some  lumps  of  "  Sulphuret 
Potass"  which  the  boys  heated,  when  a  strange 
and  still  stranger  odor  arose.  Absorbed  in  their 
experiments,  they  heard  neither  approaching  foot- 
steps nor  voices ;  the  door  was  even  opened,  but 
quickly  shut.  At  last  Ned's  mother  courageously 
rushed  up  to  them  holding  her  handkerchief  tight 
over  her  face,  and  insisted  with  unmistakable  ges- 
tures upon  their  leaving  the  laundry.  The  odor 
had  penetrated  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
house,  a  committee  meeting  had  vanished,  and 
windows  were  all  thrown  open. 

"This  is  an  end  to  your  chemistry,"  she  declared 
in  injured  tones;  "you  have  discovered  nothing 
except  how  to  make  yourselves  sick,  have  injured 
your  coats  and  trousers,  and  I  won't  have  any 
more  of  it,  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  both  boys  meekly.  Perhaps  they 
were  rather  glad  than  otherwise  of  any  expression 
of  authority  which  could  plausibly  end  what  they 
were  secretly  longing  to  give  up.  As  partners 
they  had  been  faithful  to  each  other's  interests; 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  193 

but  did  it  pay  to  give  up  base  ball,  week  after  week, 
just  to  carry  out  an  idea !  Hal's  money  was  gone, 
and  both  boys  had  done  a  large  amount  of  "  trad- 
ing" of  books  and  curiosities  for  some  other  boys' 
half-used  chemical  stock.  Ned  was  sure  he  knew 
enough  to  aid  him  in  his  profession ;  and  Hal 
valued  failure  as  an  exponent  in  indicating,  nega- 
tively, his  future  career. 

"  Glad  of  it ; "  Ned  ventured  to  assert  at  last 
when  the  family  had  dispersed  and  windows  were 
closed.  "We  must  clean  up,  and  we  might  as 
well  sell  out  the  whole  concern,  take  account  of 
stock,  and  divide  the  profits." 

"Don't  flatter  yourself,"  replied  Hal,  "that 
there'll  be  much  profit.  If  there  is  I  ought  to  have 
two  thirds  of  it  as  I  put  in  the  most  capital." 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  cash  goes,  but  brains  count  too, 
and  I  think  you  will  admit  that  the  ideas  have  been 
furnished  by  me  chiefly ;  besides  my  trousers  were 
burned  more  than  yours.  But  I  don't  care  — 
divide  things  as  you  like.  I  am  agreed." 


II. 

AS    OFFICE   BOY. 

WHEN  all  was  definitely  settled  between  Ned 
and  himself,  and  the  assets  of  the  firm 
disposed  of,  Hal  felt,  for  some  days,  as  if  he  had 
been  to  a  funeral.  He  wandered  around  the  house 
disconsolately,  and  then,  suddenly,  a  new  influence 
crossed  his  path  which  promised  tangible  and 
immediate  rewards  in  other  fields  of  labor.  Money 
prizes  were  offered  to  graduates  of  the  High  Schools 
for  the  best  two  essays  which  should  be  written, 
one  on  the  Colonial  Policy  towards  Quakers  ;  the 
other  on  the  Value  of  Republican  Government. 
The  money  was  not  considerable,  but  the  work 
looked  toward  political  journalism,  perhaps  on  to  a 
career  like  Motley's  or  Bancroft's.  Hal  had  always 
been  an  attentive  lounger  around  newspaper  offices 
on  election  nights,  and  in  the  Representatives  Hall 
194 


HIS   THREE    TRIALS.  195 

of  the  State  House  when  any  interesting  bill  was 
being  debated.  This  he  considered  as  proof  of  his 
love  of  history ;  history  was  the  one  study,  too,  in 
which  he  invariably  gained  the  highest  marks  at 
school.  These  "  indications  "  greatly  encouraged 
him  now.  He  felt  impelled  to  write  the  essays, 
even  if  they  should  be  failures,  because  he  was 
really  interested  in  the  subjects  and  had  often 
talked  with  his  father  about  them  both. 

The  closing  day  of  school  soon  came.  The  boys 
marched,  sang,  received  their  diplomas  and  then 
threw  up  their  hats,  when  free  and  in  the  street. 
Very  early  the  next  morning  Hal  visited  three  libra- 
ries and  took  down  the  titles  of  innumerable  books 
and  sketched  two  plans  for  he  intended,  as  I  have 
before  said,  to  write  two  essays,  each  in  different 
style  thus  to  increase  his  chance  of  success.  He 
,  selected  "  Nisus  Sum  "  and  "  America,"  as  signa- 
tures. He  furnished  himself  with  a  quart  bottle  of 
ink,  a  box  of  pens,  two  dozens  of  lead  pencils  and 
two  reams  of  paper,  and  greatly  enjoyed  these  pre- 
liminaries. 

Thus   equipped,  he   began  with  no  depressing 


Ip  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

circumstances,  except  his  mother's  words,  that  if 
by  the  first  of  September  he  had  not  decided  what 
he  should  like  to  do,  she  should  decide  for  him. 
He  went  out  of  town,  as  usual,  in  the  hot  weeks; 
he  fished,  and  climbed  hills,  and  got  lost,  as  usual ; 
but  through  it  all,  he  thought  and  read  of  the 
Colonial  Policy,  and  wondered  whether  he  should 
have  fallen  in  love  with  a  Quaker  girl,  and  whether 
the  troubles  between  England  and  Ireland  arose 
from  a  need  of  Republican  government  In  spite 
of  his  ramblings,  and  in  spite  of  some  discouraged 
moods,  some  unexamined  idea  always  urged  him 
on,  and  the  result  was  that  in  two  months  he  had 
prepared  rough  sketches  of  his  work,  and  his  par- 
ents were,  this  time,  convinced  of  his  earnestness. 
Coming  home  the  very  evening  of  the  first  day 
of  September,  the  day  and  the  hour  he  had  dreaded 
as  the  last  of  his  liberty,  because  as  he  had  not 
made  up  his  mind,  it  was  to  be  made  up  for  him, 
he  saw  two  men  lifting  his  father  out  of  a  carnage. 
He  stopped  and  looked  at  them.  He  had  no 
power  to  speak  or  help.  He  saw  them  carry  his 
father  up-stairs  and  lay  him  on  the  bed.  Then,  at 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 


'97 


a  word  from  his  mother,  he  went  for  a  doctor.  He 
never  could  recall  the  manner  of  his  errand,  but 
the  physician  came ;  at  last  some  one  said  to  him  : 

"  It  is  a  slight  shock  of  paralysis.  If  another 
does  not  follow,  he  will  soon  get  well."  This  was 
like  saying  to  him,  "  If  your  father  does  not  die, 
he'll  live." 

How  long  was  he  to  wait  for  that  knowledge  ! 
An  hour  would  be  a  year  and  a  year  would  be  a 
century.  He  helped  in  all  things  as  he  was  told 
to  do  ;  but  his  fingers  were  like  thumbs  and  his 
feet  like  clubs.  He  felt  a  singular  and  confusing 
sense  of  identity  with  his  father,  as  though  the 
paralysis  had  included  him. 

By  and  by,  the  room  grew  quiet.  He  and  his 
mother  were  left  alone  ;  he  would  have  given  any- 
thing if  he  had  dared  to  speak  or  touch  her.  Noth- 
ing was  near  him.  Had  he  ever  been  a  boy  ? 
Was  there  a  prize  essay  ?  Were  there  only  three 
people  in  the  world  —  his  father,  his  mother  and 
himself  ? 

Later  came  his  uncle.  His  mother  then  called 
him  by  name  for  the  first  time  in  those  terrible 


ig  HIS    THREE   TRIALS. 

hours,  and  bade  him  bid  his  father  good-night. 
As  he  went  mechanically  to  do  so,  his  father  seemed 
to  keep  Hal's  hand  in  his  own  numb  fingers,  and 
to  look  most  imploringly,  the  mother's  hand  on  to 
Harry's.  The  mother,  as  the  hands  met,  said, 
"Hal  will  take  care  of  me,  dear,"  and  Hal  ex- 
claimed, "  I  will."  Then  they  knew  they  were 
right  in  their  interpretation  as  the  sick  face  bright- 
ened and  the  eyelids  slowly  closed  in  weariness. 

Hal  went  up-stairs  to  his  own  room.  The 
thinking  he  did  that  night  made  a  man  of  him. 
He  was  sure  his  father  would  live,  but  also  that  his 
salary  would  cease,  and  that  he  himself  must  help 
to  support  the  family.  "  And  so  help  me  God,  I'll 
do  it,"  said  he,  "  but  I'll  win  the  prizes  too."  The 
growing  strength  of  his  purpose  soon  overcame 
him  and  he  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  Olympic  games 
and  wreaths  of  victory. 

When  the  physician's  visit  was  over  the  next  day, 
the  world  did  not  look  quite  so  dark.  Uncle  Joe 
was  to  live  with  them  awhile,  and  the  father  was 
conscious  and  quiet. 

"Good-by,  mother,"  said  Hal. 


HIS    THREE   TRIALS.  199 

"  Good-by,"  she  answered. 

The  front  door  closed,  and  Hal  went  down  town 
to  the  office  of  Newton  &  Bryce,  old  friends  of  his 
father's.  He  walked  up  to  the  senior  partner, 
and  said,  very  like  a  mechanical  toy  unwinding : 

"  My  father  has  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  He 
can't  do  anything  for  months.  I  heard  you  say 
once  that  if  you  could  get  an  office-boy  who  could 
keep  accounts  you  would  make  it  worth  while  for 
him  to  stay  with  you.  I  can." 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  Mr.  Bryce.  "  I  had  just 
heard  of  your  father's  illness  and  am  very  sorry. 
But  you  talk  so  fast  I  don't  understand  you. 
What  is  it  you  want  ?  Who  sent  you  ?  " 

"  No  one.  I  suppose  I  did  rattle  on,  but  I  had 
been  saying  over  to  myself  on  the  way  down  what 
I  meant  to  say  to  you,  like  points  in  an  essay." 

"  Points  in  an  essay !     The  boy  is  a  daft  one." 

"  I'm  all  right,  sir,  or  will  be,  if  you  take  me. 
How  much  wages  can  you  pay  ?  " 

The  senior  partner  smiled.  "Three  dollars  a 
week  at  first,  and  more  by  and  by  —  is  that  what 
you  want  ?  " 


20O  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

"  I  need  my  evenings,  sir,"  said  Hal.  "  I  forgot 
to  mention  that." 

"  You  can  have  them  —  but  why  ?  "  As  Hal 
made  no  reply,  Mr.  Bryce  added  kindly :  "  Never 
mind.  The  boy  I  have  goes  to-night.  I  was  to 
tell  him  to-day  whether  I  would  take  his  brother, 
or  make  an  arrangement  with  the  janitor.  I  have 
no  opinion  of  office-boys  I'll  confess  to  you,  young 
sir.  But  for  your  father's  sake,  I  am  going  to  try 
you.  Be  here  to-morrow  at  eight  o'clock,  put  the 
office  in  order,  get  the  mail,  and  have  my  table 
ready  for  me  at  half-past  eight." 

"Much  obliged,  thank  you.  For  my  father's 
sake,  I'll  furnish  you  with  an  opinion  of  office-boys 
presently,"  said  Hal.  He  started  and  got  as  far 
as  the  door,  when  he  turned  back.  "  I  really  do 
thank  you,"  said  he. 

"  That's  a  new  sort  of  boy,  anyway  —  one  conso- 
lation," said  Mr.  Bryce.  "  But  it  will  cost  some- 
thing to  teach  him.  Bother  the  change  !  " 

"Mother,"  said  Hal  on  reaching  home,  "I've 
been  and  gone  and  done  it.  I  am  an  office-boy  at 
three  dollars  a  week  now ;  more  in  prospect." 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  2QI 

"  You  blessed  child  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  then 
she  and  Hal  had  a  good  old-fashioned  cry  together 
which  saved  much  talking,  explanation,  and  advice. 

Hal's  work  was  promptly  done  the  next  morn- 
ing. Mr.  Bryce's  table  was  ready  at  half-past  eight, 
in  ideal  order.  Yet  though  he  went  to  the  bank, 
wrote,  and  added  figures,  he  still  had  much  idle 
time  on  his  hands.  Therefore,  the  following  day, 
when  there  was  really  nothing  more  for  him  to  do, 
he  felt  at  liberty  to  seat  himself  at  a  table  and 
begin  to  write.  Mr.  Bryce,  noticing  him  thus 
occupied,  walked  leisurely  by  and  beheld  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye  two  rolls  of  manuscript ;  but 
if  the  boy  could  be  silent,  so  could  his.  master. 

Still  the  master's  curiosity  was  excited.  This 
"  new  kind  of  office-boy "  piqued  his  interest. 
"  I'll  call  him  off,  and  see  how  he'll  take  it,"  reas- 
oned Mr.  Bryce  ;  and  he  whistled.  Hal  came  at 
once,  alert,  attentive,  and  did  the  errands  assigned. 
Mr.  Bryce  could  not  detect  any  sign  of  a  preoccu- 
pied mind. 

Thus  passed  the  week.  Hal  bore  home  his  first 
earnings,  Saturday  night,  and  laid  the  bills  on  his 


202  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

father's  bed  with  a  deeper  and  more  pleasurable 
feeling  of  having  done  something  worth  doing  than 
he  had  ever  felt  or  dreamt  of  before.  Yet  if  any 
one  had  spoken  a  word  of  appreciation  to  him,  he 
could  not  have  borne  it. 

That  first  week  was  the  type  of  weeks  to  come. 
His  office-work  was  not  heavy,  though  he  was  more 
and  more  trusted.  At  times  he  had  to  bite  his  lips, 
as  his  brain  came  to  a  sudden  stop  in  its  work 
when  the  whistle  sounded  for  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  own  personal  copying  or  reading.  But  as  the 
evenings  grew  longer  and  his  father  better,  he  had 
more  time  at  home  to  work  on  his  essays.  He  had 
however,  decided  to  give  up  trying  for  two  prizes, 
and  he  also  had  become  very  doubtful  about  the 
certainty  of  receiving  even  one ;  as  his  ideal  of  an 
essay  grew  and  perfected  itself,  and  as  he  realized 
how  much  hard  work  was  required  in  both  reading 
and  reflection  and  even  in  any  truly  logical  arrange- 
ment of  his  ideas.  He  had  made  several  rough 
drafts  of  his  essay.  He  had  wholly  rewritten  it 
twice.  But  the  hard  work  of  form,  development 
and  finish  remained.  Still  when  he  considered 


HIS   THREE   TRIALS.  203 

his  previous  failures  as  carpenter  and  as  chemist, 
he  was  determined  to  be  patient  with  himself  and 
try  his  utmost  with  this  plan.  In  this  painstaking 
mood  the  essay  was  completed.  He  sent  it  in  on 
the  last  hour  of  the  last  day  assigned. 


III. 

AS    HISTORIAN. 

TV  TOW  that  Hal  had  sent  in  his  essay  he  felt 
•*•  ^  weary,  for  the  excitement  of  composition  and 
of  haste  had  ceased  ;  and  he  tormented  himself,  too, 
by  recalling  sentence  after  sentence  which  he  wished 
he  could  remodel.  Also  memory  brought  back  his 
past  failures  ;  he  had  nof  succeeded  as  chemist  or 
carpenter  and  all  the  boys  knew  it.  What  would 
they  say  when  his  name  would  be  posted  on  the  bul- 
letin, down  town,  as  a  Rejected  Essayist  ?  Presently 
too,  it  was  announced  that  the  bestowal  of  the  Old 
South  Prizes  must  be  deferred  as  an  unexpectedly 
large  number  of  essays  had  been  presented  !  Hal 
whistled,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  refused  to  endure 
the  suspense,  cast  aside  his  interest  in  the  matter, 
and  resolved  to  settle  down  into  an  office-boy. 
He  cleaned  the  office  more  vigorously  than  ever, 
204 


HIS    THREE    TRIALS. 


205 


and  as  he  began  a  catalogue  of  his  employer's  library, 
there  arose  the  faint  glimpse  of  a  new  hope,  in  the 
thought  that  his  present  pursuit  might  eventuate 
in  his  being  a  lawyer.  But  with  it  there  came  a  hot 
flush  of  shame  as  he  remembered  his  many  visions 
of  the  future  ;  and  to  get  rid  of  them  he  would  run 
to  the  bank  on  an  errand  with  such  fury  that  his 
haste  suggested  a  panic.  But  in  spite  of  all  his 
changes  of  intention  he  was  growing  manly ;  mak- 
ing character,  developing  mental  fibre  and  muscle  ; 
his  mother  trusted  him  with  her  hopes  and  fears,  and 
his  father  talked  to  him  with  a  respect  that  was  very 
consoling  to  his  wounded  spirit.  Also  the  boys 
ceased  to  come  for  him  in  the  evening  ;  if  they  met 
him  on  the  street,  they  called  him  "a  dig"  and 
asked  him  what  new  hobby  made  him  so  serious. 

Some  months  had  thus  passed,  when  one  day, 
Hal,  who  had  almost  forgotten  his  history  in  his 
law,  thought  Mr.  Bryce's  whistle  for  him  had  a  pecu- 
liar sound.  "  Get  your  hat,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  and 
follow  me.  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Court  House." 

Hal's  active  imagination  instantly  saw  himself 
seated  there  as  Judge.  Yes,  law  was  his  vocation. 


206  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

But  when  there,  he  was  almost  pushed  into  a  corner, 
while  Mr.  Bryce  pointed  him  out  to  the  clerk  of  the 
court.  This  rather  frightened  Hal,  but  he  felt  re- 
assured at  the  command  to  stay  where  he  was  until 
the  clerk  should  bid  him  go  for  Mr.  Bryce,  for  the 
latter  could  not  afford  to  spend  the  morning  in 
court  waiting  for  his  case  to  come  up. 

It  was  a  new  world  to  Hal  and  his  astonishment  and 
interest  was  increased  as  he  recognized  an  old  play- 
mate in  the  one  who  was  being  examined.  An  officer 
had  removed  the  boy's  jacket  and  was  calling  the 
attention  of  the  Judge  to  long,  deep  welts  on  the 
boy's  back,  the  resul  t  of  lashes  inflicted  by  his  father, 
because  his  son  earned  but  little.  The  contents  of 
a  dirty  paper-bag  were  also  exhibited,  as  being  the 
only  dinner  allowed  the  boy,  who,  with  his  mouldy 
crust,  walked  three  miles  each  day  to  the  shop 
where  he  worked.  That  very  morning  he  had 
been  so  dull,  that  some  one,  suspecting  the  truth, 
had  told  "the  boss"  of  his  condition,  and  through 
an  officer  of  the  "Society  for  the  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Children,"  his  case  had  been  brought 
into  court. 


HIS    THREE   TRIALS.  207 

Poor  Hal  !  perhaps  he  was  born  to  be  a  philan- 
thropist after  all.  He  resolved  to  interest  him- 
self in  the  S.  P.  C.  C.  Visions  of  "  cases  "  hunted 
out  and  brought  before  the  officers,  thrilled  his 
soul.  How  he  ached  for  this  particular  boy  !  and 
how  he  contrived  to  make  that  boy  feel  he  was  there 
and  to  tuck  some  lozenges  into  his  hand,  as  his 
former  companion  passed  by  him  under  the  kind 
guardianship  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Society;  and 
then  the  clerk  ordered  him  to  find  Mr.  Bryce. 

The  next  day,  when  he  was  summoned  to  Mr. 
Bryce's  inner  office,  from  dreams  of  himself  as  the 
eminent  legal  adviser  and  prosecutor  for  the  S.  P. 
C.  C.,  that  gentleman  asked  him  rather  quizzically 
how  he  liked  "  court  business."  Hal  replied  that 
he  did  not  know  surely,  but  guessed  he  might  come 
to  prefer  it  to  office  work  and  cataloguing. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bryce,  "  I  am  rather  sorry  to 
hear  that,  for  I  had  thought  of  raising  your  wages. 
However,  I  am  doubtful  about  employing  essayists 
as  office-boys.  It  might  work  badly." 

"  Has  it,  sir  ? "  he  asked ;  then  in  an  embarrassed 
manner,  "  I  am  not  certain  what  you  mean." 


2C>S  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

The  lawyer  made  no  reply,  and  Hal  turned  away 
crestfallen. 

"  O  come  back  here,  boy,"  called  out  Mr.  Bryce 
then.  "  And  by  the  way,  can  you  tell  me  who  is 
Nisus  Sum  ? " 

Harry  wriggled  with  conflicting  sensations  until 
he  could  scarcely  stand.  At  last  he  burst  out: 
"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  O  not  much  ! "  replied  Mr.  Bryce,  with  an 
amused  look,  "only  I  hold  an  essay  to  return  to 
him." 

Hal  grew  so  white  that  his  employer  pitied  him, 
and  forebore. 

"  You  did  not  know  I  was  chairman  of  the  com- 
mittee on  the  Old  South  Prizes,  did  you  ?  "  he 
added  in  a  different  tone. 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not ; "  exclaimed  Hal,  flushing  to 
his  very  temples. 

"  And  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  '  Nisus  Sum ' 
until  ten  minutes  ago." 

"Well,  this  may  be  fun  to  you,  sir,  but  it  isn't 
to  me,"  said  Hal,  almost  with  a  sob. 

"  Look  here,  my  boy,  listen.  You  knew  Mr.  Akers 


HIS    THREE    TRIALS.  209 

died  ;  well,  he  was  one  of  the  judges,  and  I  was 
asked  to  take  his  place,  and  I  consented,  because 
I  saw  that  I  had  an  office-boy  who  would  attend  to 
his  work." 

Hal  put  his  hand  out  vaguely  towards  the  table 
as  if  to  lean  on  it  for  support.  Mr.  Bryce's  tone 
involuntarily  softened  as  he  continued:  "I  have 
been  comparing  the  estimates  sent  in  by  the  other 
judges,  and  I  see  that  we  agree  that  the  first  prize 
for '  Colonial  Policy '  is  taken  by  *  Nisus  Sum.'  " 

"'Nisus  Sum,'"  said  the  boy  dreamily,  "first 
prize."  Then  suddenly,  as  if  beside  himself,  he 
twirled  Mr.  Bryce's  chair  round  and  round  with 
the  poor  man  in  it  until  the  lawyer  had  to  exert  his 
strength  to  stop  him. 

"  That'll  do,"  exclaimed  he.  "  Don't  get  frantic, 
but  it  was  really  very  risky  for  you  to  try  to  do  my 
work  and  yours  too.  There  was  danger  of  doing 
neither  satisfactorily." 

"Did  I  neglect  anything,  sir?  you  know  I  didn't. 
I  began  to  read  up  for  the  essay  before  father  was 
taken  sick,  and  then  when  that  came,  I  was  bound 
I  would  do  something  at  last." 


210  HIS   THREE   TRIALS. 

"Well,  well,  you  succeeded,  didn't  you?  Go 
home  now  and  tell  them  ;  only,  remember  this,"  and 
Mr.  Bryce  grew  stern,  "don't  think  because  you 
have  succeeded  now  that  you  always  are  to  win. 
Stick  to  your  daily  work.  Be  a  good  clerk  first, 
that  you  may  be  a  good  historian  later." 

"  Trust  me,"  said  Hal  gravely,  who  felt  the  awe 
of  success  stealing  over  him.  He  felt  queer,  yet 
happy  and  humble  ;  and  bowing  low,  he  left  the 
room.  It  took  but  a  few  moments  for  him  to  rush 
home  ;  and  if  his  father  had  not  gained  in  strength 
he  certainly  would  have  suffered,  for  Hal  bounded 
into  the  room,  upsetting  the  chairs  and  a  table  and 
spinning  his  mother  round  in  circles  somewhat  as 
he  had  treated  Mr.  Bryce,  he  exclaimed : 

"  I  have  won  !  I  have  won !  first  prize  !  Now  you 
can  be  sick,  father,  as  long  as  you  please." 

Then  followed  explanation  and  a  quiet  talk 
which  made  Harry  always  look  back  upon  that 
evening  as  the  happiest  one  of  his  boyhood. 

It  only  remains  to  add  that  he  was  as  good  as  his 
word  ;  he  was  an  able  clerk  first,  and  an  historian 
only  as  a  middle-aged  man. 


IN  THE   SECOND  DORMI- 
TORY. 

AMON  VALDEZ  was  an  acquisition.  He 
was  a  Cuban.  Father  had  picked  him  up 
at  Havana,  where  he  was  looking  out  for  some- 
body who  could  teach  him  English  instead  of  the 
queer  jabber  that  he  learned,  second-hand,  from  a 
wizened  little  French  adventurer,  who  had  set  up 
as  a  teacher  of  languages,  and  had  nearly  forgot- 
ten even  his  own.  I  did  get  sold  in  the  most 
ridiculous  way  over  father's  telegram  that  an- 
nounced his  coming !  But  that's  all  over  — 
they  have  about  forgotten  it. 

He  was  real  fun  after  we  got  acquainted ;  he 
didn't  seem  to  know  anything  about  base-ball,  and 
couldn't  catch  a  fly  worth  a  cent !  guess  it  is  too  hot 
in  Havana  to  play  ball.  He  couldn't  fish  either, 

211 


212  IN   THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 

but  it  wasn't  the  season  for  that,  so  we  didn't  care. 
But  he  could  ride  !  He  mounted  the  colt  one  day, 
bareback,  and  went  around  the  lot  five  times  before 
he  fell  off,  and  not  one  of  us  boys  could  stay  on 
a  rod.  We  respected  him  some  after  that. 

But  he  was  queer !  The  first  thing  mother  did 
was  to  buy  him  a  lung  protector,  as  he  wasn't 
acclimated  yet,  she  said.  Jack,  the  six-year-old, 
got  hold  of  it  and  put  it  on  outside  of  his  frock, 
and  then  came  galloping  around  with  it  on  in  that 
way.  Well,  Ramon  came  down  to  breakfast  the 
next  morning  with  that  protector  on  just  as  Jack 
had  fixed  it !  Then  he  wanted  some  "  John-bread." 
Where  he  got  it,  I  don't  know,  but  what  he  meant 
was  "johnny-cake." 

I  heard  him  reciting  some  poetry  to  Mollie  one 
night  —  that  was  father's  way  in  teaching  lan- 
guages, to  make  us  commit  poetry  and  recite  to 
each  other  —  and  this  was  what  he  made  of  it ! 

Zoze  zevening  bells, 

Zoze  zevening  bells ! 
How  may-nay  tales  zheir  moozic  tells 
Of  yuz  an'  home  an'  zat  sweet  time 
Wen  first  I  heard  zheir  queezing  chime. 


IN    THE    SECOND    DORMITORY.  213 

"  Their  what,  Ramon  ?  "  cried  Mollie. 

"  Zheir  queezing  chime,"  he  repeated  innocently, 
staring  at  her. 

"  Soothing,  Ramon,  soothing  !  "  He  laughed 
away  too,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  didn't  get  mad  in 
the  least.  I  suppose  our  Spanish  was  as  funny  to 
him.  He  never  laughed  at  us,  though  ;  I  presume 
he  was  too  polite. 

But  he  just  got  into  the  ways  of  us  boys  about 
as  quickly  as  any  new  boy  that  ever  came  to  the 
Highland  School,  and  before  he  had  been  there  two 
weeks  he  was  in  a  scrape  ! 

It's  dreadfully  dull  to  be  the  teacher's  son. 
You  have  to  do  just  so,  you  know,  "to  set  a  good 
example,"  and  it  isn't  any  fun.  Father  never  asked 
me  to  tell  what  was  going  on,  no  matter  what  was 
up ;  but  he  put  me  "  upon  honor  "  not  to  go  in  my- 
self, so  of  course  I  had  to  keep  out.  But  the  fellows 
understood,  and  used  to  tell  me  all  about  it  after- 
ward, and  as  somehow  they  always  came  to  grief, 
I  felt  a  little  more  contented  than  I  might  have 
done. 

One  night  we  could  not  get  to  sleep. 


214  IN   THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 

The  long  moonbeams  came  down  athwart  the 
dormitory  through  the  great  windows,  and  lay  in 
broad  parallelograms,  bisected  and  quartered,  upon 
the  floor.  We  got  our  geometry  lesson  out  of  the 
figures,  and  reeled  off  a  whole  section  of  theorems, 
without  the  least  effect.  That  ought,  by  rights,  to 
be  enough  to  set  a  whole  houseful  of  boys  journey- 
ing into  the  Land  of  Nod,  but  it  didn't  us. 

Father  heard  us  jabbering  and  came  up  to  see 
what  the  matter  was,  but  our  sudden  interest  in 
the  science  of  planes  and  prisms  so  amused  him 
that  he  laughed  all  the  way  down-stairs ;  for 
Charlie  Brown  crept  to  the  door  and  heard  him. 

At  last  Frank  Hapgood  —  "  Happy-go-lucky  "  — 
sat  up  in  desperation,  flung  his  pillow  on  the  floor, 
got  out  of  bed  deliberately  and  sat  down  on  it. 
Nine  other  pillows,  nine  other  white-robed  figures 
solemnly  followed  suit.  Said  Harry  Eveleth,  "  Fel- 
lows, I've  tried  to  do  my  duty  and  go  to  sleep, 
and  I  can't.  We  must  do  something ! " 

A  silence,  broken  by  a  sigh  from  Ramon. 
"Ah!  on  nights  like  zis  I  have  gone  to  ze — ze 
zoogar  hcuies  to  sleep  some  time,  in  Habana  ! " 


IN    THE     SECOND     DORMITORY. 


2I7 


Frank  "  Happy  "  gave  a  start,  looked  at  the 
circle  intently,  then  gave  a  little  nod,  and  winked. 

Eight  others  of  the  owl  committee  gave  a  sim- 
ultaneous start  in  answer,  as  though  they  had 
been  unconsciously  fooling  around  a  galvanic  bat- 
tery. The  gentleman  from  Havana  alone  was 
quiet ;  he  did  not  yet  understand,  but  the  others 
did,  and  he  was  ready  to  follow.  Texan  herders 
say  that  a  drove  of  ten  thousand  cattle  will 
sometimes  at  night  leap  to  their  feet  like  a 
flash,  without  apparent  cause  or  warning.  There 
will  be  a  roar  of  thundering  hoofs,  a  distant 
rumble,  and  that  herd  will  have  vanished  like 
smoke  from  the  camp-fire,  "  on  the  stampede  ! " 
Our  boys  had  "  stampeded." 

Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  later  a  certain  wakeful 
teacher  was  pleasantly  made  aware  of  the  fact  that 
a  cataract  of  boys,  each  with  one  of  the  nice  white 
blankets  belonging  to  Mrs.  Teacher,  tied  across 
his  shoulders,  was  streaming  down  the  lightning- 
rod  by  his  window;  and  stepping  lightly  thither, 
he  caught  a  disconnected  word  or  two  about  "  old 
Brown's  sugar-house," 


2l8  IN    THE    SECOND     DORMITORY. 

"  How  shall  we  get  her  out  ?  " 

"  Tie  up  her  feet  in  straw  !  " 

"  But  the  carriage  will  make  such  a  racket !  " 

"  Well  "  —  after  a  moment's  thought  —  "  we  can 
take  the  cart ;  that's  been  newly  greased." 

There  was  a  rumble,  a  slow  sque-e-ak,  and  the 
cart  was  out  without  much  noise.  Two  boys  at  the 
thills  and  two  more  pushing  behind,  they  softly 
trundled  it  down  the  yard,  stopping  at  every  un- 
usually loud  squeak.  It  was  almost  as  light  as 
day ;  only  in  the  yard  the  trees  cast  a  slight  shadow 
of  tangled  branches,  leafless  as  they  were. 

There  was  a  suppressed  sense  of  excitement,  a 
strained  thrill  of  the  nerves  that  made  thumby 
work  of  their  handling  the  buckles.  The  old  horse 
was  sleepy,  and  wouldn't  "  stand  round  "  to  order, 
and  they  had  to  push  her  into  place  ;  but  they  were 
ready  at  last,  and  Happy-go-Lucky  whispered  "  Pile 
in!" 

They  piled  in  literally  one  above  the  other,  and 
lay  down  upon  the  hay  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart. 
There  might  yet  be  some  stray  wanderer  to  meet 
and  run  the  gauntlet  of  his  cross-questioning.  The 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    VALIANT    STAMPEDERS. 


IN    THE    SECOND    DORMITORY.  221 

wheel  struck  a  stone,  and  there  was  a  jounce ;  the 
bottom  fellows  wriggled  out,  what  was  left  of  them, 
and  sat  up,  gasping.  They  had  rather  run  the  risk 
than  try  that  again.  But  they  met  no  one. 

It  was  a  night  when  there  is  no  sound.  The  in- 
sects are  dead,  the  birds  have  gone  South  with  the 
other  members  of  the  higher  circles  of  society ; 
there  was  only  the  rattle  of  the  heavy  cart,  spring- 
less  and  jolty,  along  the  dusty  road  that  wound  like 
a  great  horseshoe  around  the  long  slope  of  the 
ridge  that  shot  up  suddenly  into  "  Paradise  Hill." 
Beyond  the  river  a  dog  barked,  a  mile  away,  and 
ended  in  a  melancholy  howl.  Ramon  shivered, 
ind  drew  his  blanket  around  him  ;  he  had  a  super- 
stitious fear  of  that  sound. 

The  mountains  in  the  North  never  seemed  so 
high  and  dark  before.  Then  they  saw  that  it  was  a 
cloud,  black,  sullen-looking  —  great  masses  of  vapor 
heaped  in  billowy  folds,  blackening  the  slopes  with 
shadow,  and  barely  touched  above  with  silver-gilt. 

"  Looks  a  little  like  a  storm  to-morrow,"  said 
Harry. 

No  one  answered  him.     The  chatter  had  some- 


223  IN   THE     SECOND    DORMITORY. 

how  died  away,  and  they  were  more  intent  on  keep- 
ing warm  than  talking.  It  wasn't  all  their  fancy 
painted  it  —  this  clear,  cold  moonlight ;  it  was  icy. 

"Never  mind,  boys!"  cried  Charlie  Brown 
cheerfully,  as  they  drew  up  at  an  old  hop-house  by 
the  side  of  the  road,  and  got  cut  stiffly,  "  we  can 
howl  now  if  we  like,  and  nobody  to  hear." 

But  nobody  wanted  to  howl.  They  did  want  to 
get  up  the  slope  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where 
the  sugar-house  was,  and  putting  horse  and  cart 
together  in  the  shed,  they  scaled  the  fence  and 
started  up  the  hill  at  a  lumbering  trot.  Now  that 
their  beds  were  so  far  away  they  were  sleepy 
enough. 

As  it  happened,  just  as  they  struck  the  fence, 
a  brisk,  elderly  gentleman,  with  iron-gray  hair,  and 
spectacles,  and  a  queer  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he 
glanced  up  at  the  mass  of  clouds  piling  up  in  the 
mountains,  walked  hurriedly  do\vn  a  narrow  sheep- 
path  through  the  leafless  woods,  and  entered  the 
sugar-camp.  It  was  dark  in  there, — dark  as  Erebus  ; 
only  in  two  or  three  places  a  ray  of  light  streamed 
down  through  the  holes  in  the  roof. 


IN    THE     SECOND     DORMITORT.  223 

The  gentleman  in  spectacles  glanced  around  se- 
renely ;  as  though  it  was  quite  the  thing  for  him  to 
be  wandering  around  in  the  woods  at  that  un- 
earthly hour ;  poked  at  the  roof  here  and  there  with 
his  cane,  knocked  up  a  few  shingles  that  let  more 
light  in  on  the  subject  of  his  investigations,  and 
came  out  again  hastily  as  he  heard  the  boys  ap- 
proach, and  disappeared  in  a  clump  of  spruces. 
Five  or  ten  minutes  afterward,  he  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  backed  the  horse 
out  of  the  shed,  put  on  the  bridle,  and  removed  his 
blanket,  sedately  got  in  and  drove  quietly  home. 

Charlie  Brown  was  the  first  up  the  hill,  and  her- 
alded the  sight  of  the  camp  with  a  cheer.  *'  Now 
then,  lively  !  Out  with  your  jack-knives  and  off 
with  a  lot  of  spruce  boughs  !  " 

Then  followed  a  great  hacking  of  dull  knives 
and  cracking  of  limbs,  with  the  occasional  swish  of 
an  armful  into  the  camp.  The  boys  worked  like 
beavers  for  a  while,  and  got  thoroughly  warmed 
again,  and  the  air  within  was  filled  with  resinous 
fragrance.  That  done  and  arranged  to  their  ex- 
perienced leader's  satisfaction,  they  wrapped  them- 


224  IN    THE    SECOND     DORMITORY. 

selves  like  Indians  in  their  blankets  and  tumbled 
down  upon  the  heap  of  boughs ;  the  air  trembled 
with  a  chorus  of  strange  sounds  as  one  by  one  they 
dropped  off  into  a  drowsy  sleep,  with  an  occasional 
wriggle  as  a  knot,  or  the  end  of  a  limb,  made  itself 
felt  through  the  many-folded  blanket,  and  engraved 
a  distinct  dent  upon  the  sleeper's  back  ;  while  over- 
head, the  giant  cloud  crept  upward  slowly,  slowly 
toward  the  zenith,  spreading  east  and  west  without 
a  break.  One  half  of  the  valley  had  vanished  in 
the  blackest  shadow,  and  still  the  gilded  edge  swung 
steadily  on,  with  the  slow,  resistless  sweep  of  misty 
legions  upon  legions,  armed  in  ebon  mail ;  vast  bil- 
lows of  night  that  drowned  the  scattered  stars  that 
met  them,  one  by  one.  Them  it  struck  the  full 
moon  and  blotted  it  from  sight.  The  world  of  the 
little  valley  dropped  into  night,  and  all  was  dark  as 
Erebus.  A  breath  of  wind  whispered  through  the 
forest,  and  died  away,  sighing,  in  the  pines. 

Ramon  awoke  suddenly. 

Straight  from  the  centre  of  that  sea  of  black- 
ness, like  the  plummet  of  an  engineer,  like  the  lead 
of  a  storm- tossed  sailor,  shot  a  drop  of  rain.  Down 


IN    THE    SECOND    DORMITORY.  225 

it  came  with  unerring  swiftness,  right  through  one 
of  the  spectacled  gentleman's  improvised  "  sky- 
lights "  in  the  roof,  and  splashed  in  the  Cuban's 
face.  Half-dreaming  still,  he  sleepily  rolled  over 
out  of  range  ;  he  had  been  awakened  before  in  that 
way,  and  was  used  to  it. 

There  was  a  slope  now  in  the  pile  of  boughs, 
and  Harry  Eveleth  slid  down  into  the  vacated 
place  unconsciously.  Splash  !  and  the  raindrop 
covered  his  cheek  with  water.  Dimly  through  his 
dormant  brain  the  idea  crept  that  he  was  back  in 
the  dormitory,  and  some  one  was  trying  the  old 
trick  of  hanging  a  saturated  sponge  above  his  head  ; 
he  had  done  it  himself,  once,  and  this  was  retribu- 
tion. With  a  smothered  grunt  of  discontent  he 
gave  Ramon  a  shove  thatt  sent  him  further,  and 
rolled  over  into  his  place.  Frank  Hapgood  began 
to  slide  —  began  to  dream  that  he  was  falling  down 

• 

through  a  frightful  place  that  had  no  bottom  !  The 
air  whistled  shrilly  past  his  head.  The  black  walls 
of  the  pit  shot  upward  swiftly  and  he  could  see 
the  faint  light  far  up  at  the  mouth  of  the  shaft 
growing  dimmer  until  it  too  went  out !  He  tried  to 


226  IN   THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 

scream,  but  the  wind  caught  the  sound  and  carried 
it  away  with  a  rush  of  mocking  laughter;  he  tried 
to  reach  out  and  grasp  the  walls  but  his  hands 
were  bound  !  Then  he  felt  that  he  was  drawing 
near  the  end ;  he  had  fallen  miles  !  —  and  now 
his  speed  was  slackening,  and  he  was  falling  so 
softly,  so  lightly,  till  at  last,  like  a  downy  feather 
he  floated  on  the  air,  as  a  spirit  from  another  world. 
He  had  reached  the  centre  of  the  earth ! 

Splash  !  came  the  rain  upon  his  face,  and  the 
cold  breath  of  the  night  and  storm. 

"  Great  Caesar !  boys,  it's  raining !  " 

There  wasn't  much  doubt  of  that  fact.  And  as 
stream  after  stream  began  to  pour  through  the  roof 
there  was  a  sudden  resurrection  among  the  white 
mummies  stretched  upon  the  spruce  boughs.  Frank 
glanced  around,  and  then  made  another  equally 
wise  observation : 

"  This  old  shanty's  mighty  leaky ! " 

As  the  ground  covered  by  the  mansion  thus  dis- 
respectfully alluded  to  was  about  eight  feet  by 
twelve,  and  there  were  at  that  particular  moment 
sixteen  different  streams  of  water  pouring  down 


IN    THE    SECOND    DORMITORY.  227 

upon  their  heads,  the  rest  had  already  discovered 
the  fact,  and  there  was  a  hasty  consultation. 

"Can't  we  stop  up  the  holes  ? " 

"  Nothing  to  do  it  with ! "  said  Harry  Iweleth 
mournfully.  "And  I've  been  sitting  in  a  puddle 
for  the  last  two  minutes !  " 

Ramon  jumped.  A  waterspout  had  shot  down 
the  back  of  his  neck.  "  We  mus'  go  out  of  zis ! 
We  soon  shall  be  wetter ;  we  can  run  to  ze  horse's 
house!" 

"  Good  for  you,  Havana  !  your  head's  solid  ! " 
sang  out  Charlie  Brown  heartily.  "Now  for  it! 
Put  your  blankets  over  your  heads,  woman-fashion, 
and  travel  like  a  blue  streak  ;  and  —  Jupiter  Plu- 
vius  !  how  cold  this  rain  is  !  "  His  words  ended  in 
an  involuntary  chatter. 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation  ;  then  with  a 
sigh  they  ducked  under  the  blankets  and  dashed 
out  into  the  darkness  and  the  rain  which  fell  his- 
sing through  the  tossing  limbs  of  the  trees,  and, 
stumbling  over  the  fence  with  a  crash  of  breaking 
rails,  they  ran  violently  down  a  steep  place  without 
the  least  idea  of  the  direction,  till  they  all  brought 


228  IN   THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 

up  in  a  heap  in  the  bottom  of  a  ditch,  with  some  six 
inches  of  water  for  company  !  However,  within  a 
few  rods  was  the  "  horse's  house."  They  scrambled 
out  and  ran  for  it,  their  once  white  blankets  stream- 
ing with  muddy  water,  chilled  through  and  through 
with  the  cutting  wind.  They  reached  it,  crowded 
in,  felt  blindly  around  in  the  dark,  and  then  came 
a  cry  of  dismay  : 

"  The  horse  is  gone  !  " 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  It  was 
too  dark  in  there  to  distinguish  a  single  feature,  so 
they  did  not  get  much  comfort  from  that.  For 'a 
full  minute  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Then  Frank 
Hapgood  drew  a  long  breath  and  then  ejaculated  : 

"Well,  I'm  blessed!" 

"  So  ze  horse  is  stole  by  ze  ladrones,"  remarked 
Ramon  philosophically.  "  How  we  shall  pay  !  " 

"  Pay  !  no  ;  the  beast  untied  the  knot  and  walked 
home,  which  is  what  we  shall  have  to  do  —  and  it's 
raining  brickbats !  "  snapped  Harry,  as  a  gust  of 
hail  crashed  upon  the  roof.  "  He  did  that  once 
before." 

Somehow  their  spirits  rose  a  little  at  that ;  the 


IN   THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 

indefiniteness  of  the  animal's  fate  had  alarmed 
some  of  them,  and  pocket  money  was  scanty.  They 
even  cracked  a  feeble  joke  or  two,  in  a  half-hearted 
way,  but  the  steady  splash  and  spatter  of  the  rain 
chilled  the  fun  all  out  of  it,  and  wet  as  they  were, 
they  huddled  together  among  a  lot  of  straw  and 
blankets  until  they  were  quite  comfortably  warm. 
They  were  even  dozing  when  Charlie  Brown  sud- 
denly pointed  to  the  doorway  with  a  husky  hurrah. 
It  was  the  gray  light  of  a  cold  November  dawn. 

Father  had  some  peculiar  ideas  when  he  built 
our  house,  and  the  dining-room  juts  out  from  the 
rest  like  a  great  bay-window  —  a  room  with  three 
sides  of  glass.  We  were  at  breakfast,  discussing 
buckwheats  diligently,  when  father  glanced  down 
the  roadway  and  began  to  laugh. 

We  turned,  looked,  and  then  rushed  to  the  great 
windows  in  a  crowd.  Up  the  drive  with  slow  and 
solemn  tread,  swaying  under  the  gale,  pelted  with 
rain,  came  the  valiant  stampeders,  a  procession  of 
blanket-mantled  figures  in  dingy  white,  the  water 
dripping  from  their  coverings  in  streams,  squashing 


230  IN    THE   SECOND    DORMITORY. 

and  churning  in  their  boots  as  they  splashed  indif- 
ferently onward  through  mud  or  grass  alike ;  such 
miserable-looking  rats ! 

Frank  looked  up  with  a  wan  attempt  at  a  smile 
as  he  passed  under  the  windows  and  saw  the  rows 
of  grinning  faces  looking  down,  but  the  rest  kept 
their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

Father  went  out  upon  the  piazza.  "Good-morn- 
ing, boys  !  out  for  a  constitutional  ?  nothing  better 
to  get  up  an  appetite,"  he  said  with  a  cheerful 
smile. 

Frank  laughed  ;  he  really  couldn't  help  it,  al- 
though a  moment  before  he  had  been  mad  with 
himself,  the  horse,  the  rain,  and  the  world  in  gen- 
eral. As  they  looked  at  each  other  sheepishly  out 
of  the  corner  of  their  eyes  the  rest  took  it  in,  and 
began  to  grin  at  the  ludicrous  sight  of  themselves, 
and  for  a  few  minutes  very  great  was  the  hilarity. 

"That's  right ;  that's  right.  A  hearty  laugh  is 
good  medicine  !  but  you  will  need  something  more, 
so  in  with  you,  quick  ! " 

And  before  they  knew  it,  they  were  running  the 
gauntlet  of  the  rest  of  us,  and  scudding  for  the  dor- 


IN    THE    SECOND    DORMITORY. 


23I 


mitory,  from  whence  came  presently  a  sound  as  of 
mighty  rubbing,  and  the  flavor  of  Jamaica  ginger. 
But  they  had  to  stay  in  bed  all  day,  to  their  great 
disgust,  and  "  ginger "  was  a  dangerous  word  to 
mention  for  weeks  after ;  and  for  two  whole  terms 
not  one  of  those  boys  were  in  any  of  the  scrapes 
that  were  going  on.  "  They  had  been  there  !  "  they 
said,  with  a  rueful  smile,  which  we  could  appre- 
ciate. As  father  used  to  say,  "  There's  nothing 
like  learning  the  logical  sequence  of  conse- 
quences !  "  And  they  had  a  big  washing  bill  that 
week. 


THE   DOUGHNUT   BAIT. 

A  SCHOOLBOY  a  few  weeks  since  told  me 
of  an  amusing  encounter  that  he  and  his 
brother  had  just  had  with  a  bear.  It  was  at 
Thanksgiving  time,  and  they  were  enjoying  the 
few  days'  vacation  in  hunting  in  the  Maine  woods. 
The  locality,  to  be  exact,  was  the  north  side  of 
Roach  River,  about  half-way  from  the  first  pond 
to  where  the  stream  empties  into  Moosehead  Lake. 

Near  a  deserted  log  hut,  known  as  "  McPheter's 
Camp,"  they  had  discovered  signs  of  a  bear  —  his 
tracks,  and  the  spot  where  he  had  lain  down 
among  the  tall  dead  grasses. 

"  Let's  stay  here  all  night  and  watch  for  him," 
said  Willie  —  Willie  was  the  one  who  related  the 
adventure  to  me. 

"That  wouldn't  be  right;  for  they're  look- 
ing for  us  at  home,"  replied  his  brother  Dick  to 
232 


THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT. 


233 


this  somewhat  tempting  invitation.  "  Besides 
there  might  not  come  a  bear  here  again  for  a 
week." 

"  Well,  let's  rest  here  a  few  minutes  anyway," 
said  Willie. 

Opposite  the  door  of  the  hut  was  its  one  win- 
dow, the  glass  so  covered  with  cobwebs  that  very 
little  light  came  through.  It  was  dark  enough  in 
there  for  a  bear's  den  —  he  might,  in  fact,  be  in 
there.  But  flinging  the  door  wide  open,  the  boys 
ventured  in.  There  was  a  visible  movement  at 
the  window,  but  it  proved  to  be  only  three  or  four 
great,  gray  spiders  hurrying  to  their  coverts  from 
the  unwonted  light. 

"  What's  this,  Dick  ? "  and  Will  kicked  a  tangled 
mass  of  iron  from  a  corner  into  the  sunshine. 

Dick  eyed  it  a  moment.  "Aha  —  it's  a  bear 
trap,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  we  will  catch  him,  now,"  said  Will  tri- 
umphantly. 

"The  old  thing's  too  rusty  and  weak,"  Dick 
pronounced  finally,  after  examining  it.  "  'Twouldn't 
hold  a  bear." 


THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT. 

"  Oh,  let's  just  set  it,  anyhow,  and  try"  coaxed 
Will. 

After  repeated  efforts,  in  which  Will  got  caught 
himself  —  or,  rather,  his  boot  —  they  got  the  huge 
iron  jaws  wide  open,  and  the  trencher  in  place. 

"  Next  thing  we  must  shoot  something  for  bait," 
said  Will. 

"  I  really  think  we  haven't  time,  not  to-night, 
Will,"  said  Dick.  "See  !  it's  almost  sunset,  and 
we  are  two  miles  from  home  through  the  woods." 

"  Well,  then,  I've  got  two  doughnuts  left.  Let's 
put  them  on." 

"  Very  well,"  laughed  Dick,  good-naturedly,  "if 
you  can  wait  for  your  supper." 

So  the  trap,  with  a  doughnut  tied  to  the  trencher, 
was  placed  a  few  feet  just  outside  the  cabin  where 
any  one  within  could  plainly  see  it  from  the  win- 
dow. The  chain  was  made  fast,  and  the  other 
doughnut  broken  to  bits,  and  scattered  about. 

The  next  morning  the  boys  were  early  on  the 
tramp,  in  order  to  visit  a  shallow  pond  some  three 
miles  eastward,  where  they  expected  to  find  moose. 
After  tiptoing  about  and  impatiently  watching  the 


THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT.  235 

shores  till  afternoon,  they  did  see  a  moose ;  but 
before  they  were  within  range,  he  turned  to  run. 

"  Fire,  Will !  "  shouted  Dick. 

The  report  of  two  guns  echoed  from  the  woods 
about,  while  the  moose  with  a  sudden  bound  or  two, 
disappeared  among  the  trees.  They  could  hear  the 
great  creature  crashing  through  the  woods,  and  they 
hurried  on  in  pursuit.  After  going  about  a  mile 
they  lost  track  of  him,  and  they  gave  it  up  as 
neither  had  detected  any  token  that  the  animal 
was  hurt. 

The  chase  had  led  them  near  a  trail  that  passed 
the  McPheter's  camp;  and  they  jokingly  turned 
that  way  to  see  if  anything  had  happened  there. 

"  If  that  doughnut  isn't  gone,  I'm  going  to  eat 
it,"  murmured  Will.  "  I'm  awful  hungry." 

"  I  doubt  that  the  birds  and  squirrels  have  left 
any  till  this  time,"  said  Dick. 

"  A  large  bird,  or  a  gray  squirrel  would  get 
caught,  if  they  touched  it,  wouldn't  they  ? "  ques- 
tioned Will  hopefully. 

"Perhaps — if  the  old  trap  wasn't  so  rusty  — 
but  hush  —  there's  the  camp.  Supposing  we  keep 


236  THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT. 

behind  it  and  go  in  until  we  see  if  there's  anything 
in  the  trap." 

They  opened  the  door  softly,  and  moved  lightly 
in  and  toward  the  window.  The  first  glance  gave 
them  a  start.  There  was  a  big  bear  sitting  bolt 
upright,  with  his  forepaws  hanging,  right  before 
the  window.  He  had  evidently  heard  the  sound  of 
their  approach,  and  was  looking  around  for  them. 
Dick  gave  one  long,  but  weary  look.  Then  he 
shouted  : 

"  All  right,  Will.  He's  caught !  The  doughnut 
did  it ! " 

For  a  moment  the  boys  stood  looking  out  of  the 
window,  and  the  bear  sat  looking  in.  It  was  too 
much  for  Bruin  —  that  gaze  of  exultant  victory. 
He  struggled  a  moment  with  the  trap,  then,  with 
one  vigorous  leap,  he  cleared  himself  and  went 
head  and  shoulders  into  that  window. 

Dick  sprang  for  a  hole  in  the  low  roof,  and  Will 
dashed  out  of  the  door.  He  had  just  time  to 
shut  it  behind  him  before  the  bear  came  bumping 
against  it. 

It  were  hard  to  say  who  was  hunter  and  who 


THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT.  237 

was  hunted  just  then.  Will  was  outside,  but  vir- 
tually the  bear's  captive,  as  he  stood  braced  back 
against  the  door.  Dick  was  creeping  about  on  the 
rotten,  creaking  roof.  The  bear  was  inside,  vigor- 
ously snuffing  about  for  his  enemies.  He  repeat- 
edly tried  the  door,  but  it  failed  to  open.  He 
growled  up  the  hole  in  the  roof  at  Dick,  but 
couldn't  reach  him.  There  they  were,  three  very 
uncomfortable  parties. 

At  last  the  boys  heard  the  sound  of  rattling 
glass  again ;  evidently  the  bear  was  going  to  try 
the  hunt  outside.  Will  made  a  frantic  endeavor 
to  open  the  door,  but  he  had  pushed  so  hard  that 
now  it  stuck.  He  got  it  open  at  last,  and  peeped 
in,  just  at  the  instant  when  the  bear  came  round 
the  corner. 

This  was  the  situation  now  :  Will  was  look- 
ing in  after  the  bear,  the  bear  had  come  round 
after  Will,  and  Dick,  on  the  roof,  was  trying 
to  get  a  good  sight  at  the  bear  without  slipping 
off.  By  holding  to  the  hole  in  the  roof  with  his 
foot,  he  found  himself  able  to  peep  over  the  eaves ; 
and  when  the  bear  turned  the  corner,  he  with 


238  THE    DOUGHNUT    BAIT. 

lucky  aim,  and  plucky  quickness  put  a  moose- 
charge  into  the  back  of  the  creature's  head. 

Will  turned  and  was  putting  his  gun  out  to  fire, 
just  as  Dick  dropped  down  through  the  roof.  But 
the  bear  lay  still.  Dick's  shot  had  finished  him. 

There  was,  of  course,  great  rejoicing  between 
the  two  young  hunters.  They  started  a  fire,  then 
took  off  Bruin's  skin  ;  and  soon  some  most  deli- 
cious bearsteaks  were  broiling  on  the  coals. 

"  I  don't  miss  that  doughnut  at  all,  somehow," 
said  Will  as  they  sat  at  dinner. 


A    REAL    HAPPENING. 

OLD  BEPPO  and  Nina,  his  wife,  with  their  two 
boys,  lived  in  one  of  those  little  excavations 
which  everybody  who  has  visited  Naples  will  remem- 
ber. I  hardly  know  what  to  call  them,  for  they  cer- 
tainly do  not  deserve  the  name  of  dwellings.  They 
are  little  holes  dug  in  the  sandy  hillsides  just  outside 
the  busy  city,  where  the  poor  people  crawl  in  at 
night,  and  where  they  keep  their  little  belongings 
by  day.  The  poor  of  Naples  live  out  of  doors,  as 
indeed  the  poor  people  all  through  Southern  Italy 
do ;  and  it  does  not  seem  half  as  hard  to  be  poor 
in  Italy  as  elsewhere.  The  beautiful,  clear,  blue 
sky  overhead,  and  the  soft,  warm  earth  to  sit  and 
lie  upon,  with  the  delicious  air  to  breathe,  and  the 
great  Duomos  always  open  to  them  where  they  can 
go  at  any  hour  of  the  day  and  feel  that  they  have 
just  as  much  right  as  kings  and  princes  —  who 
239 


240  A   REAL   HAPPENING. 

wonders  that  they  are  contented,  lazy  and  dreamy  ? 
Give  a  Neapolitan  beggar  macaroni  and  sunshine, 
and  he  will  sit  and  dream  away  the  hours  with  no 
thought  or  care  of  what  will  come  to-morrow.  He 
has  just  energy  to  whine  —  " Poverino  Signorina" 
—  and  it  matters  little  whether  his  extended  hand 
is  filled  with  centismi  or  not ;  according  as  it  may 
be,  he  calls  upon  the  "  Sanctissmi  Virgina "  to 
bless  or  curse  you  and  sinks  away  into  dreamy  con- 
tent till  the  next  stranger  approaches.  Not  so 
with  Old  Beppo ;  he  tugged  all  day  grinding  out 
dolorous  tunes  from  his  old  organ,  and  whether 
people  paid  him  for  grinding,  or  paid  him  to  stop 
grinding,  all  the  same  Old  Beppo  thought  he  was 
earning  an  honest  living. 

Everybody  in  the  little  neighborhood  of  Lazza- 
roni  knew  and  loved  Old  Beppo — why  he  was  al- 
ways called  Old  Beppo,  I  never  knew,  unless  it 
was  because  his  home-life  had  given  him  a  sub- 
dued, downcast  look,  and  his  shoulders  were  more 
rounded  and  bent  than  even  his  heavy  organ  would 
have  made  them  if  he  could  have  had  a  little  com- 
fort and  cheer  in  the  poor  place  he  called  home. 


A   REAL   HAPPENING.  241 

Nina  was  a  peevish,  querulous  wife  —  always  find- 
ing fault,  and  never  satisfied  with  Beppo's  earn- 
ings ;  true,  it  was  little  enough  he  brought  at  night 
after  trudging  all  day  with  his  hand-organ,  and  as 
he  approached  the  little  rookery  at  the  end  of  the 
day  his  steps  grew  languid  and  heavy,  for  he  knew 
his  only  welcome  would  be  Nina's  grumbling,  fret- 
ful greeting ;  and  poor  Old  Beppo,  after  unstrap- 
ping his  burden  and  eating  his  poor  meal  of  maca- 
roni, found  rest,  not  on  the  little  seat  outside  his 
own  door  with  his  wife  and  children,  but  on  the 
sand-bank,  or  on  a  neighbor's  doorseat  where  he 
could  smoke  his  pipe  in  peace  beyond  the  sound  of 
Nina's  croaking,  scolding  voice.  The  two  boys 
were  like  their  mother,  and  Beppo  found  little  com- 
fort in  them,  so  it  must  be  confessed  that  when  in 
the  summer  of  1860  Nina  was  called  away  to  a 
country  where  Old  Beppo  hoped  she  would  not 
find  so  much  to  scold  about,  his  grief  was  not  in- 
consolable, and  a  year  later  he  found  a  more  con- 
genial companion  in  a  trim,  pretty  little  widow 
whose  husband  was  taken  off  by  the  same  scourge 
that  carried  Nina  away.  Italia  had  one  little  boy 


242  A   REAL    HAPPENING. 

who  was,  like  his  mother,  amiable  and  pretty,  with 
the  beautiful  great  black  eyes  of  a  true  Italian,  and 
all  the  fascinating  ways  of  a  pretty  child  of  nature. 
He  might  have  been  used  for  a  model  of  Italian 
child-beauty. 

Old  Beppo  spent  two  peaceful  and  happy  years 
with  Italia,  and  then  came  again  the  summer  pes- 
tilence and  poor  Italia  was  one  of  the  victims. 
Little  Dino  was  heartbroken  at  the  loss  of  his 
mother,  and  Old  Beppo,  after  trying  in  vain  to 
console  the  little  boy,  decided  to  take  him,  with  the 
two  half-brothers,  to  America,  as  much  perhaps  to 
change  the  scene  for  little  Dino  as  to  better  his 
condition  in  our  land  of  hope  and  promise.  Dino 
played  the  violin  and  accompanied  Old  Beppo  in 
his  wanderings  over  the  country  for  a  time,  until 
the  old  man  became  restless  and  unhappy  and 
longed  for  his  native  air.  Dino  had  recovered  his 
childish  spirits,  and  was  happy  in  the  freedom  of 
our  free  sunny  summer  weather  where  he  had 
plenty  to  eat,  and  was  petted  and  pampered  be- 
cause of  his  pretty  little  ways  and  his  bright  black 
eyes.  But  Old  Beppo  could  not  live  away  from 


A    REAL    HAPPENING.  243 

his  "beautiful  Italy,"  and  as  soon  as  he  gathered 
pennies  enough,  he  took  passage  for  Naples  and 
left  the  three  boys  in  America. 

The  two  older  boys  were  to  look  after  little 
Dino  and  to  give  him  such  care  as  he  needed. 
True  to  their  coarse  nature  and  instincts,  they  be- 
gan, as  soon  as  their  father  had  left,  to  send  Dino 
out  with  his  violin  to  earn  not  only  his  own  bread 
but  theirs  ;  for  they  knew  that  his  attractive  little 
face  and  winsome  manners  would  win  for  them 
more  pennies  than  they  could  for  themselves.  This 
was  true,  but  sometimes  the  pennies  failed,  and  the 
days  were  dull,  and  people  did  not  care  for  Dino's 
music;  and  then  the  brothers  beat  him  and  ill- 
treated  him  until  he  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

The  summer  was  passing ;  the  days  were  becom- 
ing cool,  and  the  nights  damp  and  chilly,  and  of- 
tentimes little  Dino,  rather  than  go  to  his  brothers 
where  he  was  sure  to  meet  with  cruel  treatment, 
would  creep  under  an  old  cart  or  under  some  door- 
steps and  spend  the  night.  This  he  did  not  com- 
plain of  until  the  nights  grew  frosty,  and  the  poor 
little  fellow  found  himself  stiff  and  cold  when 


244  A   REAL   HAPPENING. 

morning  came  ;  and  then  with  the  tears  streaming 
down  his  cheeks  he  longed  for  "  My  Italy.  I 
'fraid  I  freeze  to  death,  I  want  my  mother,"  he  said 
pitifully. 

His  brothers  kept  track  of  him  and  lost  no  op- 
portunity to  illtreat  him,  and  he  resolved  to  run 
away  from  Boston  and  go  to  some  place  where 
they  could  not  find  him.  Accordingly  one  rainy, 
chilly  night  in  November,  he  took  the  cars  and 
started  to  go — he  knew  not  where,  but  anywhere 
beyond  the  knowledge  of  the  brothers  who  had 
whipped  him  until  he  bore  the  marks  all  over  his 
little  body.  Crouched  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
cars,  Dino  was  counting  his  pennies  when  the  con- 
ductor found  him  and  asked  in  not  the  pleasantest 
tones  where  he  wished  to  go. 

Of  course  he  had  no  idea  how  much  money  it 
took  to  ride  in  the  cars  even  a  short  distance  ;  so 
he  gave  the  conductor  all  the  pennies  he  had,  and 
said,  "  I  want  to  go  so  far." 

It  was  on  this  dismal,  chilly  November  night 
that  little  Dino  found  himself  in  one  of  the  subur- 
ban towns  of  Boston,  where  some  young  ladies 


LITTLE    DINO    AT    THE    FAIR. 


A   REAL    HAPPENING.  247 

were  holding  a  little  sale  for  the  benefit  of  a  Home 
for  Orphan  Children  in  their  neighborhood.  The 
day  being  so  unpropitious,  visitors  had  been  few 
and  sales  very  slow.  The  young  people,  with  rue- 
ful faces,  were  talking  in  the  twilight  of  their  dis- 
appointed hopes,  and  wondering  if  the  evening 
would  bring  customers  for  the  little  articles  they 
had  spent  all  their  leisure  summer  hours  upon,  in 
the  hope  of  adding  a  large  sum  to  the  depleted 
treasury  of  the  town,  when  suddenly  a  child's  voice 
was  heard  at  the  door,  "  Me  want  to  play  me 
fiddle  for  some  supper." 

No  one  who  saw  that  tiny  boy  with  his  pleading 
eyes,  and  his  rich,  soft  voice  and  his  broken  for- 
eign accent,  as  he  stood  half  clad  in  the  chill  of 
that  November  night,  can  ever  forget  the  picture. 
They  were  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do.  They 
said,  "  But  we  don't  want  to  hear  your  fiddle. 
Where  did  you  come  from,  and  what  is  your  name, 
and  where  are  you  going  ?  It  is  night  and  where 
will  you  sleep  ? "  Bancroft  Librai? 

"  Me  come  from  Naple,"  he  said ;  and  hold- 
ing out  his  little  brown  hands  he  displayed  the 


248  A   REAL    HAPPENING. 

scratches  and  said,  "Me  big  brothers  beat  me, 
and  scratch  me,  and  me  run  away." 

"But  where  did  you  come  from?"  a  half  a 
dozen  eager  girls  asked  all  at  once. 

"  Me  don't  know.  Me  sleep  under  cart  and  me 
very  cold.  Can't  me  play  me  riddle  for  some 
supper  ? " 

The  tears  began  to  start  not  only  in  the  eyes  of 
the  little  waif,  but  handkerchiefs  were  in  demand 
among  all  who  stood  listening  to  the  story,  forget- 
ful of  sales  or  profits  for  the  moment,  and  intent 
only  upon  feeding  the  little  orphan  who  stood  be- 
fore them. 

"  Come,"  they  said,  "  and  you  shall  have  some 
supper;  but  where  will  you  stay  to-night  ?" 

"  Me  don't  know.  Me  mother  die,  me  father 
go  back  to  Naple,  and  me  cry." 

The  interest  grew  with  every  word  he  uttered, 
and  the  excitement  ran  high  among  the  enthusias- 
tic young  girls,  each  of  whom  fed  and  petted  him 
till  the  little  fellow's  countenance  beamed  with 
happiness.  He  had  never  fallen  into  such  hands 
before,  and  his  sorrows,  like  all  childish  sorrows, 


A    REAL    HAPPENING.  249 

melted  away  under  the  first  rays  of  loving  kind- 
ness. He  was  placed  on  the  flower-stand,  and 
there  among  the  flowers,  in  the  warm,  cheerful  hall, 
he  was  reminded  of  his  own  beautiful  Italy,  the 
land  of  flowers ;  and  the  notes  of  his  little  fiddle 
attracted  the  visitors  so  that  as  the  evening  wore 
on,  Dino  found  his  friends  increasing  and  his 
pockets  filling  with  pennies,  and  his  eyes  over- 
flowing with  joy.  Pointing  to  one  of  the  ladies,  he 
said  in  a  plaintive  tone,  "  Nobody  love  me,  no- 
body smile  on  me  but  her  —  and  my  mother  die 
and  I  cry." 

But  the  evening  was  wearing  away.  The  flow- 
ers were  fading,  the  people  were  leaving  one  by 
one,  and  the  hall  would  soon  be  deserted.  What 
then  would  become  of  poor  Dino  ?  It  was  decided 
at  length,  after  much  consultation,  to  place  him  in 
the  Orphans'  Home. 

The  morning  dawned  and  brought  one  of  those 
clear,  crisp  November  days  which  are  common  in 
our  New  England  after  a  rain,  and  Dino  was  taken 
to  his  new  home.  This  Home  for  Orphan  Boys  is 
a  cosey,  cheerful  house,  and  when  Dino  was  intro- 


250  A    REAL    HAPPENING. 

duced  to  the  kind  man  who  has  charge  and  told  if 
he  would  be  a  good  boy  he  should  have  a  home 
there,  have  dinners  and  suppers,  have  a  place  to 
sleep  like  other  little  boys,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief, 
took  a  deliberate  look  around  the  sunny  room, 
and  then  thrust  his  little  brown  chubby  hand  into 
the  pocket  of  his  torn,  dilapidated  trousers,  and 
drew  forth  the  pennies  that  were  snugly  tucked 
away  in  their  depths,  and  with  a  grateful  smile,  his 
black  eyes  fairly  dancing  for  joy,  he  handed  them 
to  the  superintendent,  saying,  "You  give  me  home, 
I  give  you  my  pennies.  I  was  so  'fraid  I  freeze  to 
death." 

It  was  touching  to  see  how  Dino  clung  to  his 
little  old  fiddle.  It  seemed  to  be  the  one  connect- 
ing link  between  the  days  in  Italy  where  he  had 
lived  an  easy,  happy  life  with  his  mother  whom  he 
seemed  to  love  so  dearly,  and  the  new  home  which 
promised  to  give  him  shelter.  His  little  old  fiddle 
was  a  source  of  much  amusement  to  the  children, 
whose  tunes  he  readily  caught,  and  he  soon  be- 
came a  great  favorite.  The  visitors  who  came  to 
the  Home  always  asked  first  for  Dino,  the  Italian 


A   REAL   HAPPENING.  251 

boy,  and  seldom  went  away  without  leaving  some- 
thing for  the  little  fellow. 

As  the  days  and  weeks  wore  away,  Dino  con- 
stantly improved  in  mind  and  manners,  and  devel- 
oped all  the  sweetness  of  heart  and  disposition 
that  he  promised  on  that  November  morning  when 
he  gave  "  his  pennies  for  a  home."  At  the  end  of 
five  years  he  left  the  Home  and  sought  a  place 
where  he  could  earn  his  own  living. 

Years  passed  and  the  memory  of  little  Dino  was 
fading  out  of  the  hearts  of  those  who  had  be- 
friended him,  when  the  Sabbath  stillness  of  a 
midsummer  afternoon  was  broken  by  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps,  as  the  family  sat  on  the 
broad  piazza  of  a  pleasant  country  house.  A  young 
gentleman  was  seen  coming  up  the  shady  avenue, 
and  the  question  went  around,  "Who  can  the 
stranger  be  ? " 

The  bell  rang  and  the  message  came :  "  Say  to 
the  lady,  Dino  would  like  to  see  her.  I  think  she 
will  remember  the  name." 

As  the  lady  approached  —  she  of  whom  he  had 
said  on  that  dreary  night  in  November,  "  Nobody 


252  A    REAL    HAPPENING. 

love  me,  nobody  smile  on  me  but  her  "  —  she  rec- 
ognized the  Italian  eyes,  and  the  old,  sweet,  musi- 
cal accent  with  which  she  had  been  familiar  years 
before. 

With  a  graceful  bow,  he  said,  as  if  to  assure 
himself  of  a  welcome,  "  Madam,  I  should  not  have 
ventured  in  your  presence  if  I  had  not  been  in- 
formed by  my  friends  at  the  Home,  upon  whom  I 
have  called,  that  you  would  be  glad  to  see  me ;  for 
I  felt  that  by  my  long  silence  I  had  forfeited  all 
claim  to  your  friendship." 

Of  course  he  was  most  cordially  welcomed,  and 
invited  to  tell  the  story  of  his  long  absence.  He 
said,  "  I  was  earning  an  honest  living  in  a  grocer's 
establishment  as  job-boy  after  I  left  the  Home, 
when  the  idea  took  possession  of  me  that  I  must 
have  more  education,  and  I  knew  the  only  way  I 
could  get  it  was  to  go  into  the  country  and  work 
for  my  board  where  I  could  go  to  school.  I  found 
a  kind  old  farmer  who  gave  me  board  and  lodging 
for  what  I  could  do  out  of  schoolhours  on  the 
farm,  and  here  I  remained  for  some  years,  Then 
came  over  me  the  old  longing  for  music.  I  had 


A   REAL    HAPPENING.  253 

kept  the  little  music  I  knew  during  my  stay  at  the 
farm,  for  I  had  led  the  Sabbath  choir  and  the 
Sunday-school  singing,  and  had  never  missed  a 
Sabbath  while  I  was  there.  But  I  longed  for  some 
knowledge  of  music.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  live 
without  it,  and  though  the  kind  old  farmer  offered 
me  good  wages  if  I  would  remain  with  him,  and  a 
generous  sum  when  I  should  become  of  age,  I 
said,  '  I  cannot  live  without  music,'  and  so  I  bade 
adieu  to  my  pleasant  home,  and  went  to  a  city 
where  I  could  hear  music  —  my  heart's  great  de- 
sire —  and  take  lessons  as  soon  as  I  could  earn 
money  enough  to  pay  for  them.  I  soon  found 
occupation,  and  now  I  am  earning  an  honest 
living."  He  then  modestly  added:  "Perhaps, 
madam,  you  will  be  gratified  to  learn  that  I  have 
never  tasted  intoxicating  drink,  nor  spoken  a  pro- 
fane word  since  I  left  the  Home.  I  have  never 
forgotten  the  first  passages  of  Scripture  I  learned 
from  the  little  Bible  you  gave  me  :  '  There  is  not  a 
word  in  my  tongue  but  lo  !  O  Lord,  thou  knowest  it 
altogether:  " 

The  little  Italian  beggar  now  has  a  wife  and  a 


254  A    REAL    HAPPENING. 

pretty  little  boy  in  a  comfortable  home  of  his  own, 
and  his  testimony  is,  '*  If  I  had  not  been  cared 
for  and  instructed  in  that  Christian  Home,  I 
should  be  a  beggar  now  as  I  was  when  I  entered 
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